Psychic Struggles
by SpiderFangWolverine123
Summary: Growing up as a psychic in a world where monsters are common knowledge has never been easy for 14 year old Sam. He's been shipped from hunter to hunter, always watched. When he meets John, Mary, and their son Dean, he feels like he's finally found a family. However, someone has a different plan for him. Someone with a heart full of vengeance, and a thirst for revenge. AU world.
1. Homecoming

**Yay! It's here! I decided to post this early, because it was a clear winner among all who voted. If you did vote for this story, I hope it lives up to your expectations. If you voted for another story, I'm sorry I couldn't write it this time, but I'll need one to write after this one. : ) If you didn't vote at all, I hope you like this story anyway. Enjoy!**

**Just FYI:**

**Dean - 18**

**Sam - 14**

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><p><strong>Chapter One - Homecoming<strong>

Sam stared out of the car window, his forehead pressed against the cool glass. He watched as the houses sped by, the maze of sidewalks and yards blurring into a hazy mess.

Sam shifted in his seat, his arms growing tired from their awkward position. His wrists were bound by handcuffs, which in turn were fastened to the chair in front of him. He sat in the backseat of an SUV, while his social worker, Mr. Pearson, drove in front.

Sam glanced up at the man, feeling hot animosity growing in his chest as he looked at him. As if he could feel Sam gazing at him, Mr. Pearson glanced into the rearview mirror, catching Sam's eyes for a split second. Sam darted his eyes away, watching the outside landscape again.

"Problem, Sam?" Mr. Pearson asked. He spoke in a voice laced with false sympathy. Sam knew his concern was fake. Everything about the man was fake. He was practically a robot, only worried about his job, and keeping Sam in line. Which hadn't worked so far.

Sam stayed silent, not wanting to incite another verbal beatdown. He'd had enough of those while driving away from the Bensen's house. And away from the Freemont's house. And the Emile's house. And the Denellis' house.

In total, Sam had spent his life in a grand total of seven different Care homes. Nobody seemed to want him. He wasn't an easy charge. He didn't listen. Didn't even try.

"Sam, this might be your last chance." Mr. Pearson warned. "After this, you'll have to go to a camp. No one wants to take in a psychic who's been through eight homes." _No one really wants a psychic at all. _The words were unspoken, but Sam could hear them as easily as verbalized words.

He wasn't telepathic. Though he had met another like himself who'd had that specific talent. No, he'd just heard the words before. People didn't want psychics. They didn't want the responsibility of watching over them. They only wanted the money.

Sam didn't take Mr. Pearson's words too seriously. He'd heard the speech before. It was just in an effort to make him behave, for once. But it wasn't going to work. It never had before.

* * *

><p>"Are they here yet?" Mary asked anxiously. She looked over at the digital clock on her fireplace mantel. They were scheduled to be there twenty minutes before.<p>

John crossed the room and wrapped his arms around his wife. "Stop worrying, Mary." He murmured. "Everything will be fine." Gently, he placed a kiss on her lips.

"Gross," Dean muttered as he entered the room, holding his car keys. "If I wanted to be scarred for life, I'd enter a dogfight." He grabbed his leather jacket and moved towards the door.

Mary rushed over to stand in front of him. She stopped him, placing a hand firmly on his chest. "Hold it, Dean. You agreed to be here when Sam arrived."

Dean sighed. "Mom, I know this is a big deal for you, but that doesn't mean that I have to pretend to be all excited that we have to be this stupid kids bodyguard until he gets shipped off to some prison camp." Dean said bitterly. "I just want to be left out of it."

Mary's shoulders relaxed, her small form sagging. "Dean, this is about finding Sam a home. Not about guarding him."

"That's what the stupid brochure said." Dean mumbled. "Psychics are an extreme danger to the public, and should be guarded as such." He quoted.

John, silent up until this point, walked over to join his wife.

"Son, listen to your mother." John ordered. "We're not in this for the money, we're in this to help the boy."

"Please, Dean. Stay here. It might be nice for him to see someone around his age." Mary reasoned. She gazed intently into her son's eyes, recognizing the beginnings of resignation in them.

Dean took a step back, avoiding his parent's eyes. "How old is this kid, anyway?" Dean asked evasively, to stall for time.

"He's fourteen." John informed. Dean snorted in response.

"And what? You think he's going to automatically trust me because I'm not as old as you?" Dean snapped.

"Dean." Mary said in a warning voice.

Dean sighed, and ran a hand over his head. "Fine. Fine, I'll stay." He tossed his keys into the bowl by the door, and quickly hung up his jacket. He stalked over to the family room, plunking down on one of the couches. He looked to the side, away from his parents.

Mary sighed as she watched her son. He didn't like this idea. Not because he didn't like psychics. More because he didn't like how they were treated.

_Dean might be tough, but he has a soft side. _Mary thought with a smile.

"Mary," John called from across the room. Mary quickly turned towards her husband, hope shining on her face. John grinned at her expression.

"They're here." John said.

Mary gasped and rushed to the door, opening it hurriedly. She peered out and saw a man step out of a black SUV parked in their driveway. He looked clean. Crisp. He looked like the kind of person that should be a bank accountant, not a social worker for a psychic.

Mary stepped out of the house. One quick glance over her shoulder her assured her that her husband was close behind, and Dean was sneakily looking out of the window at the new arrivals.

The man crossed to the other side of the car, and opened the backseat door. He reached in, fiddling with something, before finally pulling back. He took a step back, making some room for the boy to jump out. Mary waited patiently by the door, wanting to sprint over to the pair, but knowing that would be unprofessional.

When the boy stepped down from the car, the man wrapped an arm over his shoulders. He started herding the boy towards Mary and John, leaning down slightly to whisper something to the child. Mary saw the boy duck his head, as if ashamed. Or frightened. Her heart sang with empathy for the boy, and she found herself yearning to hold him, to comfort him.

As the two approached, the man nodded graciously in greeting. He held out his hand when they got closer.

"Ma'am, my name is Jeffrey Pearson." He introduced himself. He clapped the boy's shoulder, inciting a small flinch. "This is Sam."

Mary smiled kindly at Sam, but received nothing in return.

"You must be Mrs. Winchester." Mr. Pearson guessed with a charming smile.

"Please, call me Mary." She insisted.

A faint barking became heard, and Sam's head snapped up, looking around for the source. Mary noticed the fear and apprehension, but she also saw a spark of eagerness, and curiosity.

Dean's dog, Bones, came rushing out the house, barking crazily. The great golden retriever rushed straight at Sam. As Bones neared, Mary reached out her hand, and managed to snag his collar, stopping him short from tackling the young boy.

Sam's eyes were wide, but the fear was mostly gone. Now he looked hopeful, and slightly awed.

Mary hung onto Bone's collar, as John stepped forward to hold onto him. "I'm so sorry." She apologized. "My son's dog."

John took hold of Bone's collar, and turned back towards the house. "Dean!" He shouted. Mary saw Sam flinch. She offered him an encouraging smile, one that wasn't returned.

Dean appeared, looking sheepish. "Sorry," He mumbled. He grabbed onto the dogs collar, and started to drag him back to the house.

Mary looked back down at Sam. His eyes were back on the ground, but she could see a very faint smile on his lips.

* * *

><p>Sam stared at the ground. He could still hear the dog barking, though it had quieted down some. Mr. Pearson exchanged some more trivial words with Mary, and kept up a light, kind tone throughout it.<p>

Sam's heart felt bitter. _Sure, play nice._ He thought. _God forbid anyone find out what a son of a cow you really are. _

He didn't know what to think about this woman, this woman that didn't look at him in disgust, or fear, or hatred. Not even pity, which Sam had also experienced on multiple occasions. No, she looked at him with a sort of kindness. It unnerved him.

"Well," Mary said. "Would you like to come inside?" She gestured back towards the house, where Dean was towing his dog up the steps to the porch.

"Of course." Mr. Pearson said with a grin. His hand on Sam's shoulder tightened for a moment; a warning. Behave.

Mr. Pearson kept his hand on Sam's shoulder as they entered the Winchester's house. Sam looked around disinterestedly. He doubted he would be here long. The longest he had ever been in a Care home was about two or three months. This home would be no different.

"Dean, why don't you take Sam into the kitchen?" Mary suggested kindly. Dean, still hanging onto the collar of his dog, looked alarmed for a second. The message was clear to Sam.

_You want me to be alone with that thing? _

His face burned, and he felt that the tag around his neck was screaming out at everyone in the room. He had never been proud of what he was, and now was no different. Once again, Sam felt the want to be normal. Not hated. Not feared. Not pitied. Normal.

"Son." John said in a slow voice. He sounded annoyed, and Dean could hear it, too. He straightened, turning to Sam, and attempted a smile. He started pulling his dog out of the room, and Sam looked uncertainly up at Mr. Pearson.

Mr. Pearson gave Sam a little shove. "Go on," He muttered, irritated. He flashed a reassuring smile to Mary and John, and pushed Sam forward again. "Go, now." He ordered stiffly.

Sam could tell that Mr. Pearson was hoping that he wouldn't get stubborn. Sam considered it. But it wasn't worth it. Not right now. He walked quickly past Mary and John, following Dean.

Dean was standing next to the counter, filling up the dog's bowl. The dog started devouring the food, eating huge bites at once.

"Pig," Dean muttered, cracking a smile.

Sam stared at the dog. "What's his name?" He asked quietly.

Dean looked up at him, seemingly shocked that Sam had spoken. "Um, Bones."

Internally, Sam smiled. Bones. Cute name for a dog. On the outside, he showed no emotion. He'd learned a long time ago that people didn't care if he was happy, or amused. Just as long as he was under control.

Dean sighed. "So, you want something to eat?" He asked it as if he didn't really care, just wanted to be polite. Sam shook his head, watching as Bones finished up his food.

Dean shrugged, and opened the cabinet. He grabbed a bag of chips, and started munching.

Sam held out his hand to Bones, and gently, the dog nosed his palm. Sam's mouth turned in a small grin. He lightly patted Bones's head, and his tail wagged.

Suddenly, Bones turned away from Sam when he heard the fridge door open. Bones's tail started wagging with enthusiasm, and he panted. Dean looked up at Sam, holding a bag of carrots. Sam furrowed his brow in confusion, and Dean grinned.

"Watch." He ordered. Dean dug a carrot out of the bag, holding it out towards Bones. The dog stared, almost drooling. Lightly, Dean set the food on top of the dog's nose.

Sam's eyes widened. Bones stayed still, going cross eyed as he tried to keep the treat in view.

"Wait." Dean said, and Sam wasn't sure who he was ordering. Him, or the dog. Or both.

Sam edged a little closer. The dog slowly inched it's nose up.

Dean caught Sam's eye. He smiled at the awed expression on Sam's face.

"Okay," Dean said firmly. Bones snapped up his nose, snatching the treat out of the air.

"How did you do that?" Sam asked in a murmur. He wasn't really expecting an answer.

"Lots of training." Dean answered. He looked over at Sam uncertainly. "You wanna try?" He asked.

Sam made eye contact with Dean for a moment. He shrugged, looking back at the floor. "Sure." He finally answered. "How do you do it?"

Dean smiled genuinely. "I'll show you."

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><p><strong>How do you like it? Thumbs up? Hopefully not thumbs down…<strong>

**I was planning to have a lot more in this chapter, but I kind of like this chapter size. What do you think? Longer chapters = longer wait for update. Shorter chapters = shorter wait. **

**Considering how much I am loving this story, I'll probably have the next chapter up by...Wednesday? Fingers crossed!**

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	2. Catch

**Hope you enjoyed the previous chapter. I'm so glad that there are people following the story. : ) **

**Chapter 2 - Catch**

Sam cracked a smile as Bones launched another carrot off of his nose. This time, though, he overshot, and the produce went skidding over the tile. Bones scrambled after it, leaving Sam and Dean laughing at the ridiculous display. Bones slurped up the carrot, and ran back to the boys, his tail swinging back and forth.

"Is he always this crazy?" Sam asked while ruffling the dog's fur.

"No." Dean said with a half smile. "Only when someone that he likes visits."

Sam's smile widened and he leaned down further to rile Bones up. "Do you like me, boy? Huh?" He joked, lightly scratching his ears. In response, Bones leaned against Sam's legs, causing him to slip.

Sam caught himself with his hands, and ended up laughing while Bones licked his face dry.

Dean regarded the young psychic carefully. He wasn't what Dean had expected. He was...well, normal. He hadn't done anything out of the ordinary at all. In fact, if he hadn't been wearing that...collar...Dean would never had suspected that he was what he was. A psychic.

* * *

><p>"Here is Sam's personal file." Mr. Pearson said, handing over a thick folder.<p>

Mary took it, and opened the top. The first page was a headshot of Sam, along with some personal information. Mary skimmed some of it.

"Precognition?" She read. She looked up at Mr. Pearson.

"Limited." He clarified. "Sam is prone to psychic visions, and occasional outbursts of telekinesis. All of that information is on page six."

He looked to John. "I assume you are the hunter?"

John nodded. "Yes."

"And you both understand the responsibilities and risks of becoming a Care home for a psychic?" Mr. Pearson asked.

"Yes, we do." Mary said clearly.

"I should warn you," Mr. Pearson said as he gathered his things. "Sam is not an easy charge. Should he give you any trouble, I would urge you to punish him harshly and without reserve."

Mary felt a mix of fear and anger heat up her chest. Had this man urged Sam's other Carers to punish him "harshly and without reserve"?

"I'm sure we'll be able to control him." John stated calmly. One glance in his direction told Mary that John was furious. The slight way he had shifted his stance into one more defensive, the way his eyes were ever so slightly narrowed, his hands set. All things that Mary had learned to mean that her husband was very, very mad.

"I should hope so." Mr. Pearson said cheerfully. "But don't despair if you are unable to keep him in line. Others were unsuccessful, no matter the extent they went to."

Mary's blood ran cold. When Sam had walked up to the house, he had been wearing long pants and a jacket. What injuries could he be bearing underneath his clothes?

"And, just between us," Mr. Pearson leaned in conspiratorially, as if sharing a secret. "If you thought it necessary to take it to physical levels, I would be able to keep the information away from the higher ups." He suggested.

Mary saw her husbands fists clench, and she herself had to restrain herself from hurting the cruel man standing in front of her.

"You need to leave. Now." Mary ordered, making her voice as cold as ice. Mr. Pearson looked at her in shock, as if expecting them to jump at the chance to physically hurt Sam.

"But-" He protested, confused.

"Now, Mr. Pearson." John stated, taking a threatening step forward. "You should know we will be contacting your superiors."

Mr. Pearson sneered. "Go ahead. They won't care about a harsh comment made about a psychic. Nobody cares about psychics. Nobody cares about Sam."

Mary stepped forward, next to her husband. "We do." She stated firmly, planting her feet and wrapping an arm around John. "We care about Sam."

* * *

><p>"Go ahead. I'm ready." Dean said seriously. He bent his knees slightly, taking the catcher's stance. He widened his mouth, and nodded. "Gah He!" He repeated, his words distorted.<p>

Sam held up a hand, aiming carefully. He swung his hand back slightly, and then released the Goldfish cracker into the air. It flew in a perfect arc, straight into Dean's mouth.

Dean chewed once, holding up a finger, and then swallowed. "Awesome!" He exclaimed. "You're a great shot." He leaned against the counter, grabbing a handful of crackers and popping two into his mouth.

"How come you never went out for the basketball team? God knows your tall enough." Dean commented, looking Sam up and down.

Sam went red. Wordlessly, he fingered the small tag attached to a cord fastened to his neck. His psychic tag.

"Oh," Dean said awkwardly. "Right." He stayed quiet for a minute, processing the information.

"Sam." A cold voice spoke behind him.

Sam jumped, and spun around, freezing when he saw Mr. Pearson standing so close.

"I'm leaving now, Sam." Mr. Pearson said. "Are you going to behave yourself?"

Sam didn't answer, feeling like a small mouse edging it's way past a large, hungry snake.

"I said," Mr. Pearson repeated. "Are you going to behave yourself?" He reached out, and took hold of Sam's shoulder, clenching his fingers.

Sam cried out, and jerked backwards, trying to escape Mr. Pearsons death grip.

Dean lurched forward, as John and Mary entered the room. They took in the scene quickly. Dean shoved himself between Mr. Pearson and Sam, protectively guarding him. With a yell, he shoved the social worker back, efectively breaking his grip. John grabbed the man, and dragged him to the front door, nearly throwing him out.

"If you aren't off my property in ten seconds, I'm calling the cops." John threatened. "You'll be out of a job my this time tomorrow!"

Mr. Pearson straightened, and brushed off his jacket, glaring at John. "You will regret this. I can promise you that."

In response, John slammed the door shut. He took a calming breath, and made his way back to the kitchen. Bones was pacing around the room, looking worried. Mary was fussing, ranting about improper conduct, and phone calls she was going to make.

"When I get a hold of his superiors," She trailed off, storming off to find a phone.

John looked down at Sam, who's face was beet red. John also noticed a distinctive quiver in his fingers, which hung by his side limply. Sam stared at the tile. He seemed uncomfortable. No, he looked fearful. John leaned down on one knee. He ducked slightly to get a good look at Sam's face.

"You alright, Sam?" John asked gently.

Sam glanced up, confused. This was normally when his Carers would yell, or send him up to his room. Or worse. They were never concerned. Not for him. Haltingly, he nodded.

John nodded in response. "Good." John straightened up and looked at Dean. "Why don't you boys go outside. Get some fresh air."

"Sure, Dad." Dean said, looking relieved. "That's a good idea."

Dean patted Sam's shoulder as he passed, indicating that he should follow. Sam trailed after the older boy. Bones trotted along at his heels, panting happily.

Dean opened the back door into their garage. He raised the garage door, grabbing two baseball gloves and a baseball. Dean made his way out to the front yard, shielding his eyes against the sun. Sam followed, jogging lightly.

Dean tossed a baseball glove to Sam. Sam caught it instinctively, looking up at Dean in confusion.

"You ever played catch before?" Dean asked. Sam went red again, and shook his head, embarrased. Dean smiled good-naturedly.

"Well, then, this should be educational." He said, and tossed the ball over to Sam.

Sam reached out his non-gloved hand, and hissed when the ball made contact. The ball dropped into the grass. Dean chuckled.

"Catch with the glove, Sammy." Dean instructed. He raised his glove in demonstration. "Throw it."

Sam, hesitant, lightly tossed the ball. As he had demonstrated with the Goldfish, he was a good shot, and threw directly to Dean's glove. Dean let the ball hit his glove, and caged it with his remaining hand. He then grabbed the ball right out of his glove and tossed it back to Sam.

After a few fails, Sam caught the hang of it, and was soon throwing higher and to the side to provide a bit of a challenge for Dean. Dean did the same.

"So, how many...homes have you been to?" Dean asked hesitantly. He didn't want to intrude, and yet he was curious about this kid. Where he had come from.

"Seven." Answered Sam. "Well, eight, I guess. Counting this one."

"Wow." Came Dean's answer. "That sucks."

Sam barked a short laugh. "Yeah. It does."

"How long?" Dean asked, throwing the ball up higher. Sam jumped to catch it, and tossed it back to Dean. "You know, how long have you been in the system?"

"Since I was twelve." Came his quiet answer.

"Man." Dean sympathized quietly. "Do you ever...miss your family? Your original one?"

Sam waited for a while to answer. "Yes. And no."

Dean waited for clarification. He was just about to assume that it wasn't coming, when Sam spoke again.

"They loved me, you know? My parents. I know they did. So I miss them. But they turned me in, when they could have tried to hide me. So I don't. It's complicated."

"Sounds complicated." Dean muttered.

"Yeah." Sam agreed. He caught the ball, and held onto it for a moment, throwing it into his own glove. "You know what the worst part is?"

Dean shook his head. He knew better than to say anything.

"If they had turned me in, and been sad, or whatever, I would have been okay. But, they were...happy...I was leaving." Sam looked up at Dean. Dean could see tears shining in his eyes.

"My little brother was nine. He cried when they dragged me away. He chased after the car. And my parents did nothing. They let him cry." A tear slipped down Sam's cheek. "They did nothing…" He trailed off.

Dean stood in a shocked silence. He had often wondered what happened when a psychic was discovered. Obviously, they were separated from their families, but he had wondered if they ever visited. If they ever saw their family again.

"I guess I don't miss them. Not who there were, when they found out. I miss my parents before they knew what I was." Sam said softly. "I miss going over homework with my dad. I miss arguing with my mom about cleaning my room. I miss playing Legos with my younger brother."

Dean sighed. He stepped forward, walking over to where Sam stood. Reluctantly, he wrapped an arm around Sam's shoulder, shaking him supportively.

"You don't need to worry about them, okay?" Dean promised. "You got me. I'll look after you."

Sam laughed, his voice still thick with tears. "Are you sure? That's kind of a hard job."

Dean smiled, nodding. "I'm sure."

* * *

><p><strong>Thanks to all the reviewers, followers, and favoriters(?).<strong>

**Hopefully I'll have the next chapter up my Monday. No promises. : )**


	3. Beating

**Hey everybody. I'm so grateful for all the support I'm getting for the story. : )**

**Glad you all enjoy!**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 3 - Beating<strong>

"_Mom!" Sam begged, twisting away from the officer to see his mother again. "Please!"_

_His mother stood with his father, stoic and calm. "I'm sorry, Samuel." She said coldly._

_Sam's heart lurched when she said his name. She only called him Samuel when he was bad. When he got himself in trouble. _

"_Please, Mom! Don't let them take me!" Sam cried, as the officer grabbed Sam around the waist, and resumed pulling him to the door. _

"_You'll see, Samuel. This is what's best for you." His father promised, his voice uncaring. _

"_Please, Mom, Dad! I don't want to go." Sam sobbed, still fighting to reach his parents. _

"_Go, Sam. Just go." His father snapped. "You don't belong with us anymore." _

"_Mom!" Sam cried, reaching out for her. Still fighting to get back to her._

_She shook her head sadly. "No, Samuel. We don't want you here."_

_Sam stopped fighting._

* * *

><p>Dean rolled over, his eyes opening into slits. Something was off. Something had woken him up. But what? His first concern was his father. Had something gone wrong on a hunt?<p>

No, his father was here, at least for the time being. He was safe. So what was the problem?

Dean sat up slowly, peering around his room. Sam slept on the other side, on Dean's bed. Sam had offered to take the air mattress, but Dean wouldn't hear it.

Then he heard a sound. Small, and unfamiliar. And yet he knew what it was coming from. Or, who it was coming from. Dean looked at Sam. In his sleep, Sam whimpered again. Immediately, Dean stood up and crossed the room. He sat down on the foot of his bed, taking hold of Sam's leg. He shook it lightly, inciting another moan from Sam.

"Mom…" Dean heard Sam whisper. His heart lurched.

"No...Daniel…." Sam trailed off.

Dean reached up, and touched Sam's shoulder. Suddenly, Sam shouted, and lurched away, slipping over the side of the bed. Dean reached out, and managed to catch Sam before he hit the ground. Sam's eyes flew open, and he jerked backwards when he saw Dean leaning over him.

Dean set Sam on the ground. "Sorry." He apologized. "I didn't mean to startle you."

Sam looked away. "'s fine." He mumbled. Sam stood up, and sat back down on the bed.

"I'll...let you sleep." Dean said awkwardly. He stood up sorely, and made his way back to his mattress.

* * *

><p>Sam rolled onto his stomach, staring at the clock. 2:13 AM<p>

He had been laying there, awake, for the past two hours. Since Dean had woken him up, he hadn't been able to fall asleep. That was normal, though. Usually he got somewhere between two to four hours of sleep a night. Tonight he had managed to get three.

It wasn't that he wasn't tired. He was. He was just tired of reliving that day, over and over. Every night, his brother crying, his parents shunning him, the officer dragging him away.

Of course, what followed was probably worse. After the officer had dragged him away, he was driven to a facility on the outskirts of the state. There, he had undergone different scans and tests. He had been given his tag, and told all the rules and laws. From here, he went to a Waiting Home. Where psychics went to wait for a hunter to take them in.

Sam knew he was lucky. He had been young when his powers had appeared. He was young, and cute, and vulnerable looking. People felt sorry for him. They wanted to help. One of his friends at the Waiting Home had compared him to a lost puppy.

Of course, they soon learned that he was more of a rabid dog than a lost puppy. Sam refused to give in to certain rules. Rules like in public restaurants, he had to be escorted to the bathrooms. If he went outside alone, he had to wear his tracker. He was not allowed to handle any weapons, even with an adult present.

The rules were so stupid. Like, just because he was a psychic, he automatically went psycho and tried to kill everyone within a two mile radius. It was like they thought he wasn't even human anymore, like he had no moral compass.

Sam sighed, and rolled again onto his back, staring up at the ceiling.

He could tell it was going to be a long night.

* * *

><p>Mary held her cup of coffee close, warming her hands on the heated surface. She took a deep whiff of the steam rising from the liquid. Blowing lightly, she took a small sip.<p>

"Morning." A low voice behind her rumbled. John's arms circled her waist, and he leaned in closer to kiss her cheek.

Mary smiled. "Morning." She said in reply. "Are the boys up yet?" She asked, slightly surprised at how the plural felt so normal on her tongue.

"No, I thought I'd let them sleep." John answered.

"So I get the joy of waking them up?" Mary joked. "What an honor."

John smiled, and took a step back, picking up his briefcase. "I'm going to meet a few hunters outside of town. I should be back by dinner."

"Sure," Mary agreed. She leaned in to kiss him deeply, closing her eyes.

She felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up, and she broke away from the kiss, looking to the hallway. "Sam." She breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of him. John smiled at her, and grabbed his briefcase as he made his way out.

"See ya, Sam." He nodded to the teen as the left. Sam's brow furrowed in confusion, then went blank.

"Do you want some breakfast, Sweetie?" Mary asked gently. Sam nodded, and crossed the room to the cabinets. Silently, he searched through the cupboards until he found what he was looking for. A bowl. He started reaching for the cereal box, but froze, looking at Mary.

"May-may I have some cereal?" He asked quietly.

Mary's heart clenched in sympathy for Sam. "Of course, Sam." She assured him.

Sam grabbed the bowl and filled it halfway, pouring some milk in and walking over to the table. Mary smiled and found a spoon for him. She walked over to the table. "Forgetting something?" She asked, handing him the utensil.

Sam flinched when she spoke, and kept his eyes on the table. He accepted the spoon. "Thank you." He said.

Mary smiled gently, and stepped back. He really was a nice boy.

* * *

><p>Dean woke up at noon, to his mother flicking the light on and off. He groaned, covering his face with his pillow.<p>

"Dean, Sam's getting bored down there, all alone." Mary stated. "Can't you go entertain him for a few hours?"

Dean sat up slowly. "What am I, a babysitter?" He grumbled. Mary crooked her eyebrows, but smiled. Dean didn't mean it.

Dean made his way downstairs slowly, yawning all the way. When he entered the kitchen, he saw Sam sitting on the couch, tossing the baseball to himself, the glove on the seat next to him. Dean smiled halfway.

Sam glanced up and saw Dean standing in the doorway. His eyes lit up, and his mouth turned up slightly in a smile. Wordlessly, he tossed the ball over to Dean. Dean caught it, and nodded towards the front door.

Sam jumped up from the couch, and ran towards the door, dodging Mary as he went. Mary turned to Dean with a smile, pleasantly surprised.

"Going outside?" She asked.

Dean nodded. "Yep," He laughed, watching Sam hurry out the door. "We'll probably be out there a while."

"Come inside when you want lunch, okay?" Mary said with a laugh. "If it starts to get hot, put on sunscreen!" She called as Dean followed Sam out the door.

* * *

><p>Sam lunged to the side to reach a fly ball. He shouted triumphantly when the ball landed soundly in his glove.<p>

"Nice catch." Dean complimented. "Maybe we can break out the football after lunch."

Sam shrugged, a modest smile shining on his face. "Whatever." He agreed good-naturedly.

Dean looked back at the house. "I can go up and get some snacks, if you want."

Sam nodded. "Sure,"

Dean smiled, and headed up to the house. "I'll be back out in a minute."

Dean had sometimes wondered about having siblings. What it would be like to have to watch out for someone, and teach them the ways of life. He had dismissed the idea, with visions of annoying little brats, screaming and running in circles. Now, though, he liked the idea. He liked Sam.

He liked being an older brother.

* * *

><p>Sam shifted uncomfortably on the yard when Dean entered the house. Technically, he wasn't allowed to be outside alone without his tracker being activated. But maybe, because Dean was going to be right back, it wouldn't matter.<p>

Sam took a calming breath, and shielded his eyes against the rising sun. A sound down the street startled him, and he jumped, glancing around for the noise.

A few houses away, a group of kids were walking, laughing and shouting amongst themselves. Sam felt a familiar pang of bitterness as he watched them, fully aware of how different he was from them. He would never have that freedom, to walk freely with friends, untracked and untagged. He was doomed to spend the rest of his life collared like some common animal.

Suddenly, Sam became aware of a voice shouting louder than the others. "Hey! Who're you?" A boy at the front stopped next to the Winchester's mailbox, and was facing Sam's direction. Sam felt a stab of fear in his heart. Was this kid talking to him?

The boy stepped forward in a confident swagger, looking Sam up and down. He was small, but obviously in charge of the posse of boys surrounding him. Altogether, there was maybe seven, and the first boy was the most physically undaunting. However, he had an air of leadership about him.

"Hey!" The boy repeated, walking closer. Sam's heart thudded heavily in his chest, and he stumbled back a few steps. He felt like his tag was shining brighter than it ever had before, glowing in the late morning sun.

The small metal piece glinted in the sunlight, and it caught the leader's eye. The boy blinked for a second, and his eyes zeroed in on the tag, his eyes widening and then narrowing in turn. He glared up at Sam.

"A psychic, huh?" He said, his voice taut.

Sam glanced back at the house. Where was Dean? He turned back to the group to see that the rest of the group had recollected behind their leader, and were all glaring at him.

"You know, I'm pretty sure that psychics aren't allowed to be outside by themselves. Have to babysitted, like un-housebroken puppies." The leader taunted.

Sam felt anger flare through his veins, and adrenaline made his heartbeat rush in his ears. He tried to calm himself. When he got out of control was when the bad things happened. These were the reasons that his Carers got rid of him. He couldn't be controlled. He couldn't even control himself.

"Maybe we should teach you a lesson." The leader threatened. Sam narrowed his eyes, but didn't move. He knew he could handle himself in a fight. The question was, was it worth it?

"I'd like to see you try." Sam shot back, the words forcing themselves out of his mouth before he could stop them.

The leader grinned, like Sam had just delivered Christmas early. Slowly, he started moving forward, his group following close behind.

_These guys have seen one too many gang movies._ Sam thought grimly.

Suddenly, a large boy lunged at Sam, throwing a fist towards his head. Sam dodged underneath, and jabbed an elbow into the boy's face, making him fall. He felt a blow to his back, making him grunt. Sam swung a leg out behind him, tripping whoever had hit him. He felt someone grab his shoulders, and he tried to break their grip by spinning, but only ended up sprawled on his back.

_Not good. _Sam thought, before he felt the blows start landing all over his body. He brought his hands up to his head to protect his face, and didn't attempt to get up. He could only hope that they stopped soon.

"You're a freak." The leader hissed as he slammed a fist into Sam's side. "A disgusting, horrible, freak."

Sam prayed that Dean would come soon.

* * *

><p>"Have you two been playing catch this whole time?" Mary questioned as she got the plateful of food ready. Dean had told her that they wanted some snacks, and she had insisted that she make them a picnic lunch.<p>

Dean glanced back nervously at the door. He had only meant to step in for a minute, and a bad feeling was creeping up his spine, like some kind of chill seeping into his bones.

"Pretty much. Sam really likes it." Dean commented absently, still peering at the door.

"I'm glad that you two seem to be getting along. It's important that he have someone around his age…" His mother kept talking, but Dean felt a flash of panic. He started for the door, his mother calling behind him.

Dean yanked the door open, and his blood ran cold. A small crowd of boys was gathered near the edge of his yard, surrounding something. Or someone. A quick glance around the front yard affirmed what Dean had suspected. Sam was nowhere to be seen. So he had either run, or was in the middle of that crowd.

Dean stared for a minute, and then a cry broke him out of his stupor. Sam's cry. A sudden burst of energy radiated from the center of the group, sending some of the boys reeling. Sam.

Red flashed in front of Dean's eyes, and all he could focus on was the blinding rage and anger that he felt.

His feet pounded across the hard cement, and he reached the boys sooner than expected. Dean roared as he neared them, and some of them looked up in alarm when they heard him. The smart ones scrambled to get away when Dean neared, sprinting in all directions as fast as they could. The tough ones lifted their hands to face him, only to get smashed to the ground one by one, like dominos.

Dean snapped out a leg, cracking someone in the stomach. The kid curled up in the fetal position, groaning in pain. He lifted another to his feet, only to toss him a few feet away. The last one stood up painfully, throwing a weak punch towards his face. Dean blocked it with ease, extending his own fist and bashing the boy in the throat. The boy collapsed to the ground, coughing and retching.

Dean looked at the last boy standing frozen. This one, he knew.

"TJ," Dean spit. TJ stood, fear freezing his face into place.

"H-hey, man, we're cool, right? We were just doing you a favor. Y-you're little freak here was trying to escape-" He was cut off by a sharp blow to his jaw. TJ sat there stunned, while Dean stood over him, anger coming off of him in waves.

"Do yourself a favor, TJ." Dean snarled. "Get out of here."

TJ scrambled up off of the ground, and starting running from the yard, glancing behind him as he went.

"You'll regret this, Winchester!" He shouted.

"Doubt it." Dean muttered. He leaned down next to Sam, who lay still, his eyes closed.

"Sammy." Dean placed a hand on Sam's shoulder, and Sam jerked awake, gasping in pain. His face scrunched up, and he clutched Dean's sleeve.

"Hey, hey," Dean soothed, gently pressing him back against the ground. "Take it easy. You just took a pretty bad beating there, kid."

As Sam stared up at him, Dean was surprised to see tears well in the younger boy's eyes.

"Sammy?" Dean hovered over him, looking for a particularly bad injury that could be hurting Sam.

"De'." Sam rasped, a split lip preventing him from pronouncing his name right.

"Yeah, Sammy?" Dean said gently, still probing his body for broken bones.

"Please don't send me 'way." Sam slurred, a tear slipping down his face.

Dean paused in shock, turning his full attention to a distraught Sam. "What do you mean, Sammy? Why would we send you away?"

"Used my powers...hurt a kid…" Sam trailed off, hiccupping slightly.

Dean recalled the strange burst of energy that he had seen. He had assumed that had been Sam; now he was positive. He felt sick when he thought about it. Would Mr. Pearson take Sam away because of the incident?

"It's okay, Sam." Dean reassured him, brushing Sam's bangs out of his face. Sam let out a pained groan. "Everything's going to be okay."

* * *

><p><strong>Oh my gosh, I am sooo sorry about it being late. I think this is the first time that a chapter has come later than I promised. *sigh* well, I guess it had to happen sometime. Hopefully the quality will make up for the long wait. : **

**REVIEW! I'd love to know what you think of how I am doing with their personalities. **


	4. Wounded

**Here's chapter 4.**

**Sorry it took so long to update. Life kinda grabbed on and wouldn't let go, you know? Hope the quality makes up for it. **

**Disclaimer: Please, If I owned Supernatural or any of the characters I wouldn't be writing short stories. I'd be making MOVIES with them. : )**

**Enjoy. **

**Chapter 4 - Wounded**

line break

Dean stared down at Sam for a minute, fear making his heart pound. Mr. Pearson couldn't take Sam away for defending himself, right? Self-defense was allowed. However, he doubted Mr. Pearson would see it like that.

Sam shifted, and groaned, attempting to peel himself off the ground. Dean lurched forward and supported his shoulders, gently easing him into a sitting position.

"C'mon, Sammy." Dean urged. "Up you get."

He hooked his hands under Sam's shoulders, and pulled him up, Sam softly moaning. Dean placed Sam's arm over his shoulder, and supported most of his weight.

Dean felt a flare of anger as he hauled Sam back towards the house, hearing the small whimpers that he made the whole way. Those kids were monsters. They were the things that his father should be killing. At least the vamps and demons had an excuse. It was in their nature to kill. Those kids _chose, _intentionally, to hurt Sam.

Dean used his free hand to bang on the door. He let his hand drop, glancing anxiously around as he supported Sam. Mary pulled the door open, her mouth already open with a question on her lips. She gasped when she took in the sight of Sam, and hurriedly ushered the two inside.

"Oh, Dean, what happened?" She asked as she helped him lead Sam to a chair. Sam groaned as they lowered him into a kitchen chair.

"Sorry, Sammy," Dean muttered to the pained teen. He looked up at his mother.

"TJ and his gang." He growled, staring down at Sam. Mary saw flickers of rage dancing in his eyes. He looked up at her.

Mary's eyes narrowed in response. "They did this to him?" She asked tightly. Her eyes glanced down at Dean's hands, and took in his bloodied knuckles. A small satisfactory smile shaped her face.

"I'm guessing they got what they deserved?" Mary guessed.

Dean laughed darkly. "That would be an understatement."

"Good." Mary said simply. They stood quietly for a moment. A small moan from the boy below them startled them from their thoughts.

Mary crossed the kitchen to get a washcloth, and brought it back to gently wipe off Sam's face. Sam whimpered at the contact, but relaxed under her kind touch. A small smile made it's way onto Mary's face.

She gazed at Sam with a reserved love. She had only met him a day or two ago, and already he had found a permanent place in her heart. She loved him as she loved Dean, and her husband. As far as Mary was concerned, Sam was a part of the family, and would stay that way.

"His back is covered in bruises," Dean commented, his voice gruff. Mary made eye contact with her oldest, and she placed a steadying hand on his arm. She knew the rage he must be feeling. She could tell that he cared for Sam just as she did.

Mary reached back and gently eased Sam's jacket off his shoulders. She set it to the side, and took hold of his aged T-shirt. She tugged it off of his thin frame, exposing his bony chest. Sam shivered as the air chilled his skin.

Mary stifled a gasp when the T-shirt came free. Sam's skin was a patchwork of bruises, red, purple, yellow, and green. Not new blemishes, either. Some looked days, even weeks, old. It was painfully obvious that these had occurred before Sam had arrived with the Winchesters.

Mary looked up at Dean, and saw his eyes narrow in hatred. His fists closed at the thought of someone hurting Sam, probably for the same reason that the boys had. Because he was different.

"Oh, Sam…" Mary murmured quietly. "Who did this?"

Sam lowered his head, covering his eyes with his hair. Mary reached out and caught his chin, raising it up. She kneeled down, placing her hands on Sam's bare shoulders.

"Nobody." Sam whispered.

"Sam…" Mary whispered, her voice breaking. "Who hurt you?"

"Nobody!" Sam shouted, his voice raising defensively.

Mary looked down at him in concern. "Was it one of the other couples who took care of you?"

"It doesn't matter." Sam muttered, averting his eyes. "It's over."

Mary searched his face, waiting until he met her eyes. "You can bet it's over." She promised fiercely. "I'll make sure of that."

Dean stepped up next to Sam, and lightly tousled his brown hair. "No one will hurt you again, Sam. I promise."

Tears welled up in Sam's eyes, and he ducked his head bashfully. Mary pulled his forward until he rested against her, her arms wrapped protectively around him.

"No one's going to hurt you, baby." Mary murmured. "We'll keep you safe."

* * *

><p>"Mary!" John called as he entered the house. "I"m home."<p>

"We're in here, honey!" Mary called back.

John entered the kitchen to see Mary chopping up food for dinner, and Sam and Dean laughing as they set the table. Sam caught sight of John, and the smile vanished, wariness taking it's place. John flashed a reassuring smile his way, and cautiously, Sam resumed the horse-play, Dean acting as though the pause never occurred.

Dinner was a quiet affair, as John recounted his findings throughout the day.

"You think it's a hunt?" Dean asked eagerly, shoveling pieces of food into his mouth.

"Don't get excited." John warned. "It's probably nothing, and even if it were something, I wouldn't take you. You've been falling behind in your studies."

Dean sagged back, sulking. "My grades aren't _that_ bad." He protested quietly.

"How does that work?" Sam spoke up, his eyes on his plate.

"How does what work, Sam?" Mary asked gently.

"Hunting." Sam clarified. "Do you get to go anywhere, shoot anything?" He looked tense, as if he expected his question to get a bad response.

John chuckled. The sound seemed to relax Sam slightly. "Not exactly. You have to get a permit to hunt, and there's all sorts of paperwork involved after a hunt." He sighed and shook his head. "It was much easier back in the old days."

Mary tutted as she set a plate of chicken onto the table. "You mean back hundreds of years ago, when monsters were only legends, and hunting was illegal?"

John smiled. "Sure. There was a lot less paperwork involved."

Sam smiled down at his plate. He took a few small bites. He was still unsure what to make of John. He seemed kind enough, but still daunting. He wasn't as gentle as Mary, not as carefree as Dean. And yet there was still a caring nature about him, though it seemed tinged with fiercity.

Sam got the impression that if anyone were to threaten John's family, he would retaliate with the force of an unstoppable hurricane. The only question, now, was whether John counted Sam as part of the family?

* * *

><p>The glow of the TV washed over the dark family room. John sat on one of the couches, a beer in one hand. Mary sat on the right side of the other couch, leaning against the arm. Dean sat on the other side, with Sam in the middle.<p>

As the program went on, he leaned closer and closer to Mary. She quickly took notice of what he was doing, and when he got closer, she shifted so that she was able to tuck him under her arm. Mary felt Sam tense up, but after a minute, his muscles relaxed, and he gently laid his head down on Mary's shoulder. Her heart swelled with love, and she caught John's eye. He smiled at her.

Dean looked over at Sam, all snuggled up with Mary, and he fought down a laugh. He looked downright cute.

_That kid's going to be a chick magnet someday._ He speculated.

Dean watched as Sam's eyelids drooped lower and lower, until finally his breathing slowed and he slipped into sleep. Dean smiled and turned his attention back to the TV. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the back of the couch. He felt himself drift to sleep.

* * *

><p>Dean was jolted awake by a small sound. He blinked the sleep out of his eyes. He sat up drowsily, gazing around for the source of the noise.<p>

Dean noticed Mary looking down at Sam. He followed her gaze, and saw Sam shifting around uncomfortably, his breath coming more shallowly. Mary's brow wrinkled in concern.

"Sam?" She whispered, trying to pull Sam out of his slumber.

Dean reached out a hand, and lightly shook the boys shoulder. Sam's eyes shot open, and he shot straight up. Mary jumped in surprise.

Dean felt relief that whatever nightmare Sam had been experiencing was over. However, he felt worry grip him again when he noticed Sam's expression. His nose was wrinkled, his eyes clenched shut. He sat straight up, his whole body tense, his hands gripping the side of the cushion like was a life raft. Sam was in pain.

"Sammy?" Dean spoke quietly. He reached out to touch Sam cautiously.

Suddenly, Sam collapsed forward with a low groan. He gripped his head in his hands, his fingers twisting in his long hair. Sam fell forward, falling off the furniture to the floor. Dean hurriedly jumped off the couch and knelt by Sam's side.

"Sam? Are you okay?" He murmured. His only reply was a whimper of pain.

"Dad!" Dean called. His father jolted awake from his position on the couch. "Call an ambulance, Sam's having some kind of an attack!"

John took in the scene quickly, and made eye contact with Mary. They stared for a moment, unsure of how to proceed.

"What are you waiting for!?" Dean cried. "A formal invitation!?" He lunged up and ran towards the phone. Quickly, John stopped Dean, holding onto him.

"What are you doing?!" Dean shouted. "Call the freaking ambulance!"

"Stop, Dean!" John ordered. "Sam's not having an attack, he's having a vision."

This stopped Dean cold. He looked down at the whimpering body on the floor. He had been silently speculating about what Sam's power could be. He'd thought he witnessed it earlier, with that odd power surge in the front yard, but obviously Sam had other talents.

Sam let out a pained moan, and Dean shoved his way out of his father's arms. He knelt again by Sam, pulling his head onto Dean's lap. Sam had his teeth gritted, and his breath came in short pants.

"Are you sure?" Dean asked shortly. He knew the answer.

"Yes." Mary answered. "Mr. Pearson didn't say that they would be this painful, though."

Dean let out a short bark of a laugh. "Well, he wouldn't exactly be the type to care, would he?"

John and Mary exchanged a worried look.

Dean stared down at the trembling teen in his arms. "It's okay, Sammy." He whispered. "I've got you, I promise."

* * *

><p><em>A young boy with curly auburn hair peeked around the edge of the hallway. Seeing no one, he swiftly sprinted down the short distance, making his way to the kitchen. He was opening the fridge when a hand landed on his shoulder.<em>

"_Get down!" The voice, female, hissed. The boy dropped to the floor immediately. _

_An older man peered into the room. He glared around the area, his eyes landing on the girl. _

"_Maria, you seen Max 'round here?" He growled. "He's s'posed to be in bed." _

"_No, Dad. Haven't seen him." Maria lied, shrugging her shoulders innocently. _

_Her father grunted, then stomped away. _

_Maria let out a sigh of relief. "You can come out now." She whispered to the boy below the counter. _

_He stood up cautiously, only relaxing when he assured himself the coast was clear. "Thanks." He said graciously to the girl. "I thought he was gonna catch me." _

_Maria smiled. "Nah. I got your back." She held out her hand, a sandwich sitting on her palm. Max took it, a smile plain on his face. Maria turned to grab him an apple, but Max stopped her. _

"_I got it." He assured her. Concentrating, Max raised his hand. Slowly, the fruit rose in the air, lazily drifting toward him. _

_Maria sucked in a breath. "Max, you aren't supposed to do that! Dad'll beat you if he sees! You'll be sent to a different Care home!" _

_Max snatched the apple out of the air, flashed Maria a cocky smile, and dashed back to his room. _

_Breathing heavily from adrenalin, Max sat down on his bed, preparing to take a bite out of the sandwich._

_A mighty CRASH interrupted him. Max shielded his head as glass rained down around him. A large form tackled him to the floor, pinning him down and shoving a wet cloth over him mouth and nose. _

_Max panicked, thrashing around, but his movements became much more lazy and tired. His eyes drooped shut, and the attacker, face covered with a black face mask, threw the boy over his shoulder and jumped out of the window._

* * *

><p>Sam gasped, his eyes flying open. He groaned, and coughed.<p>

"It's okay, Sammy, just breathe." Dean's voice soothed him. Sam relaxed, breathing heavily.

"Dean…" He moaned. He coughed again, small tremors rocking down his body.

"Don't talk, Sammy. Just breathe, okay? You're alright." Dean calmed him. "Go to sleep, okay?"

Sam wanted to. He wanted to so badly. His head still ached, he felt feverish, and fragmented images of the boy were flashing behind his eyes. But he had to tell them.

"Dean…" Sam gasped. "Someone...took…"

"Sammy, it's okay-" Dean started.

"No!" Sam interrupted. "Someone...kidnapped...a psychic." He managed to make out before bursting into a coughing fit again.

Mary and John exchanged worried looks.

"Don't worry, Mary." John said. "I'll look into it tomorrow."

"Just rest, Sammy." Dean urged. "I'll take care of you."

Dean watched as Sam's eyes drifted shut, finally relaxing against him. He felt himself relax at the sight.

"There you go, Sammy." Dean whispered. "You're okay now. I got you."

**Aww...I really love writing big bro Dean. Makes my heart all warm and melty. **

**Review! I would love to know who you think the bad guy is, and predictions you might have, guesses you want to make, what you like about the story, what you hate about it, how much you ABSOLUTELY want to see Mr. Pearson's head on a stick… For example. **

**No promises on when I can update next. Just keep an eye out. **

**Cheers!**


	5. Visitor

**I'm so thankful for all the support this story has received. Your reviews keep me motivated!**

**All the usual disclaimers...nothing recognizable is owned by me...I'm eternally grateful to Kripke...I love Sam...All that stuff. : )**

**Chapter 5 - Visitor**

* * *

><p>Sam's eyes cracked open, and he blinked rapidly against the light streaming in from the window. He pushed himself up, body heavy.<p>

"You're awake." Sam heard Dean's voice. He turned towards the door, and saw Dean leaning against the doorframe. He had his hands buried in his pants pockets.

Sam stood up, yawning. "What'd I miss?"

Dean shrugs, not meeting his eyes. "Dad's about to leave. He's going to check out the...uh...thing."

Sam stopped short. He took in Dean's expression, his posture. Sam felt heat rush to his cheeks.

"Dean, I...it's not always like that…" He trailed off.

Dean shook his head. "Let's not talk about it, okay? Just pretend it didn't happen."

Sam narrowed his eyes, irritated. "Pretend it didn't happen?" He repeated.

Dean looked up, his expression dropping shamefully. "Sam, I didn't-"

"No, it's fine." Sam seethed. "Let's just pretend it didn't happen. Let's just pretend that the reason I'm here at all, the reason I wear _this_-" he jerked at his tag. "didn't happen."

"C'mon, man, I was just-" Dean protested defensively.

"No, Dean! I can't just pretend it didn't happen! Those kind of episodes are my whole _life_! I deal with them all the time, and I see people die, being torn apart, or eaten, or shot, and I can't ever do _anything_ to help them!" Sam felt angry tears well in his eyes, and he gritted his teeth.

"I can't help it, okay?" Dean raised his voice. "It freaked me out!"

Sam reached over to Dean's dresser and lobbed a book at him. The book cracked into the wall.

"How do you think I feel?!" Sam shouted. "I live through them! They're the reason my parents threw me out of the house like a piece of garbage! So I'm sorry if they 'freak you out'. 'Cause guess what?! They freak me out, too! And I'm the one that has to deal with them!"

"You think this is easy for me?!" Dean shouted. Sam flinched back for a moment, and Dean felt a spike of guilt pierce his heart, but he shoved it down. "Two days ago, I got a younger brother! All of the sudden, I'm expected to watch out for you. And not only that, but I have to act like I'm totally cool with the freaky ESP stuff you got going on! It's a lot to deal with! So just back off!"

Sam felt a jolt of betrayal hit him. His mouth opened, but nothing came out. He floundered for a minute, hurt spreading across his face.

"Fine." He whispered. "I'll back off." He blew past Dean, shoving him out of the way. Mary and John stood at the bottom of the stairs, Mary looking worried and concerned. Her eyebrows tented when she saw the tears running down Sam's face.

"Sam, Dean didn't mean what he said-" She tried to comfort him, reaching her arms out.

"Leave me alone!" Sam sobbed, pushing her arms away. He ran across the room to the front door. Yanking it open, he started to rush out, only to smack into another person standing in front of him. He raised his head to see their face, and his face paled when he saw who it was. Sam scrambled backwards, his heart pounding fiercely, as the person entered with two men flanking him on either side.

"Sam." Mr. Pearson said, his voice clear and cold, his eyes calculating. The officers on his either side eased toward Sam, hands held out toward him.

"Let's have a little chat, shall we?"

* * *

><p>John stepped forward, hands held out to the men, gently easing Sam behind him.<p>

"Hold it, Pearson." He growled at the seasoned man. "What exactly is going on here?"

"We got a complaint." Mr. Pearson drawled. Narrowing his eyes, his gaze zeroed in on Sam, piercing through him like a laser beam. "Apparently, Sam was left unaccounted for outside, without his tracker activated, during which time he attacked a group of students walking home from the park."

Sam felt heat rush through his limbs. An insane urge to shake Mr. Pearson by the throat came over him. His fingers twitched, a movement not unnoticed by Mr. Pearson.

Mr. Pearson smirked at Sam, confident in his immunity with the officers at his side. "Sam used his telekinesis, and _very_ nearly gravely injured one boy."

"Very _nearly_?" Mary questioned doubtfully. "How does that hold any water?"

Mr. Pearson turned to Mary, holding an expression of one superior to everyone. "Well, you see, the higher ups tend to not care how badly anyone was hurt, just that they were hurt." He laughed. "Why, I bet I could condemn Sam if one of those boys so much as got a nosebleed."

Mary walked forward slightly, standing next to her husband, shielding Sam further. "Let's just talk about this." Mary soothed. "There could be a compromise to be made."

Mr. Pearson raised a hand to his chin, considering the offer. He signalled to the officers, who pulled back, with a sort of vicious reluctance that made Sam shiver. They reminded Sam of attack dogs, ready to tear him apart at any sudden moves.

"What sort of compromise?" Mr. Pearson prompted.

"We would be glad to pay for this boy's medical bills." Mary said. "And for any other inconvenience this incident has caused." Her voice sounded reasonable, and Sam mentally urged Mr. Pearson to accept, wishing he had the power of mental persuasion.

"Yes, of course." Mr. Pearson agreed, as though that were given. "But that merely punishes you, for not keeping an eye on Sam."

"Excuse me?" Mary asked, feigning sweetness, her eyes alight with anger.

"Sam must be punished for his actions." Mr. Pearson stated plainly. "How will he learn if this behavior is encouraged with a lack of consequence?"

"You mean you want to punish self-defense?" Dean's voice came from the top of the stairs. He walked down slowly, each step accented with a creak of the stairs. "That's all he was doing. Those boys made the first move."

"Did you witness this? Firsthand?" Mr. Pearson snapped.

"I've witnessed TJ's cruelty before." Dean explained. "He always makes the first move." He reached the bottom of the stairs, and he held a strong stance, staring down Mr. Pearson steadily.

"What he has done in the past is irrelevant." Mr. Pearson dismissed the idea with a wave of his hand. "We're talking about Sam here."

"Fine." Dean agreed. "But none of the boys were seriously injured, were they?"

"The possibilty that they could have been is our largest concern." Mr. Pearson stated. "Our second concern is that his Carers are not doing their job to control him."

Sam clenched his fists in anger. Mr. Pearson was talking as if Sam wasn't there. As if he was too stupid to understand what was going on. In one motion, he pushed through John and Mary.

"What do you want me to do?" He asked tightly. Mr. Pearson turned his sharp gaze to Sam.

A smirk grew on Mr. Pearson's face. "Well, Sam, perhaps a Relocation would rectify your behavior."

Sam felt his stomach drop to his shoes, and his heart climbed into his throat. Fear made his heart pound like a jackhammer. He couldn't be Relocated again. The look in his social workers gaze made it clear to Sam that the Committee really was tired of trying to find him a good Care home. If he was going to be Relocated anywhere, it would be to a camp.

He swallowed with difficulty, and forced his words out. "There has to be another option."

Mr. Pearson chuckled. "Right. Why? Because you want there to be?"

"No. Because the Committee doesn't like to send psychics to camps without trying every other option first. Costs too much to just throw them in there willy-nilly." Sam explained rationally. Mr. Pearson narrowed his eyes angrily, and Sam could tell that he had won.

"Fine. There is one other option." Mr. Pearson admitted through gritted teeth. "Sam has to see a counselor for an hour every other day." He met Sam's eyes when he said this, and Sam could see the satisfaction in those cold snake eyes.

"What?!" Sam gasped.

"That's the deal. Take it or leave it." Mr. Pearson said smoothly.

"We'll take it." Mary said hurriedly.

Mr. Pearson grinned again. "I thought you might."

"Can we pick the counselor, or do you have that covered as well?" John asked sarcastically.

Mr. Pearson grinned, unaware of the animosity. "Yes, in fact, I have one in mind." He held out a small clip of paper, with the supposed Doctor's name written on top. Mary took it and inspected the text, frowning slightly.

"I don't recognize the name." She said accusingly. "Who is he?"

"Oh, just someone new to the field." Mr. Pearson said dismissively, waving a hand.

A low growl came from the living room. Bones stood with his nose pointed aggressively, staring down the three men. Mr. Pearson's eyes widened slightly. He backed away cautiously. As he exited he spat some parting remarks at the family.

"This is his last chance." He threatened. "After this, Sam will be sent to a camp. You have been warned." With that he slammed the door shut.

Bones dropped the harsh look, and jauntily bounced over to Sam, tail wagging, tongue hanging out goofily.

_I did good. Want to play? _

Sam cracked a smile at the expression on the dog's face, but merely ruffled Bone's ears, and moved away slightly.

"How do you manage to get yourself into situations like this?" Dean asked, feigning ease, but the tension was clear in his body language. He wasn't sure where he and Sam stood after the fight.

Sam looked up at Dean, saw the apology in his eyes, and smiled in response. "It's a gift." He said loftily, quirking an eyebrow for comic effect. He walked over to Dean, and lightly punched him in the shoulder. "One I've learned from you."

Dean laughed, and threw an arm over Sam's shoulders, and the boys walked toward the kitchen, Bones trailing excitedly after them.

"At least all you have to deal with is a stupid shrink." Dean commented as they made their way. "I have to go to school in the morning." He spoke the word like it was a curse, spitting out the word harshly.

"Not quite." Mary stopped them. The boys turned looking back at her.

"Sam, I signed you up for school." She said sternly. "You start tomorrow."

* * *

><p>The man sat on his computer, clicking through the different results to the tests he was consulting. The small whimpers from the form in the cage by the wall irked at him, working his last nerve. Finally, he snapped at the shape, shivering on the cold metal.<p>

"Be quiet, or I'll shut you up." He threatened in a low voice. The shape tucked itself down tighter, trying to muffle the sobs.

The man stood up in disgust, stomping over to the cage. He gripped the metal bars, rattling them violently. The figure shrieked, and scrambled to the far side of the cage, where it cowered against the bars, shaking like a leaf.

The man forced himself to stop. He stood up carefully, restraining himself. He regarded the creature before him with a forced calm, easing his fists out of their clenched position, and taking up a more sensible tone of voice.

"Now, will you...please...quiet down?" He asked quietly. The creature in the cage merely curled up tighter, but held it's cries in, silent tears running down it's face.

The man sighed. "There, that's not so hard, is it?"

"Please." A hoarse voice emanated from form. The shape scooted out into the light, and his curly auburn hair shone dully in the light. The young boy shivered, his hands quaking with nervous tremors. "I j-just want t-to go h-h-home." He stuttered, his voice hoarse from use.

The man smiled gently, and crouched down, poking a finger through the criss-crossed thin bars of the cage. The boy's eyes widened, and he lunged backwards, hitting the back of the cage with a _crash! _The man's smile faltered for a moment, and then he merely sighed.

"You are home." He said calmly. "I will take care of you." Tears spilled over the boys eyelids, and trickled down his cheeks. The man tutted, and shook his head. He stood up, grabbed something on his desk, and walked back over to the boy. When the boy caught sight of the object in the man's hand, he started shaking his head and pleading.

"No, please! Please!" He begged. He crammed himself as far away from the man as he could, but the man only gripped a chain attached to the boy's wrists, and yanked him to the front of the cage.

The boy whimpered as the man opened a section of the bars to pull one of his wrists through. The man held tightly onto his wrist, and gently poked the needle through his tender skin. The boy cried, but didn't struggle. Gradually, his crying faded, and his body relaxed, going limp in the cage.

"There, now." The man murmured. "This will help you sleep."

The man gently set the boy down. He opened the door for a moment, to arrange the boy in a more comfortable position. He lovingly stroked the boy's curls out of his face, and then pulled back, re-locking the cage. He gazed down at the boy, with pride shining in his face. In the deep silence, his next words were clear and distinct.

"Sleep well, Max."

* * *

><p><strong>Oohhh...what now?<strong>

**Please tell me your guesses. I love hearing them, and I promise no spoilers. : )**

**I have no idea when the next chapter will be up. *shrug* Just keep an eye out. (But know that more reviewers means I'm more motivated) **_**Hint, hint!**_

**Cheers!**


	6. Shank or Shiv

**I'm super grateful for all the support this story has generated. I'm glad people are enjoying it. : )**

**Disclaimer: I do no…*sniffle*...own the show, the characters, or…*sob* the boys. ; )**

**Enjoy!**

**Chapter 6 - Shank or Shiv**

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><p>Sam shot straight up in bed, heart pounding furiously. He took a few calming breaths, steadying his breathing.<p>

_We don't want you here. _

_You don't belong here. _

_Go, Sam. Just go. _

The words echoed through his head, resonating louder with every turn. Sam felt tears sting his eyes, and he bit his lip tightly, suppressing them.

His dreams had been a mish mash of many old classics, involving the same old Last Day dream, a dream about his time at the Waiting Home, and some strange nightmare involving a clown and a pack of rabid donkeys. But near the end, he had gotten a sliver of a good dream, a happy memory.

_Daniel grinned sheepishly up from his Legos, gripping a small red bar in his young hands. _

"_Help me, Sammy." He pleaded. "They're being stupid." _

_Sam laughed, crouching down. "What's the problem." _

"_This one won't stick to this one." Daniel complained, demonstrating. Sam nodded thoughtfully. _

"_Well, you could always…" He started, and suddenly pounced on Daniel, pinning him to the ground. "Tickle war!" He shouted, poking Daniel harshly in the stomach. Daniel screeched with laughter. _

"_Stop it!" He cried, giggling hysterically. "Sammy, stop!"_

Sam snapped back to the present, Daniel's laughter still ringing in his ears. He gripped the edge of the comforter, sadness overwhelming him momentarily. He would never see Daniel again. Never see his sweet, innocent little brother, ever again.

And not just because he was a psychic, and never to see his family again. Not just because he wasn't supposed to have any sort of contact with his previous life. No, he would never see Daniel even if he somehow managed to give this family the slip. Even if he could track down his family, and convince them to talk to him, for a minute. He wouldn't see Daniel.

He wouldn't see Daniel, because two months after Sam left, Daniel was shot, after running away from home to look for Sam. Two months after Sam left, Daniel left his home, searching for an older brother that was long gone.

Daniel was dead. But that wasn't even the worst part. The worst part was that Sam's psychic powers had chosen that moment to flare up.

He had watched it happen. He had watched his younger brother die.

* * *

><p>Dean sat up creakily, feeling stiff. He stretched out his arms, revelling the feeling of stiff joints popping.<p>

"Sam," He said, yawning. "Wake up, man. We got school." He glanced over at his bed, the one Sam was staying in, and blinked, shocked. Sam was sitting on the edge, already dressed, his bed made.

"Wow." Dean said. "You must be pretty excited about school, huh?"

Sam cracked a smile, but his eyes didn't display the same emotion. "Something like that." he muttered. He stood up, walking over to the door. "I'll be downstairs." He informed Dean, and left quickly.

Dean flopped back against his pillow, his mind full of concern. The circles under Sam's eyes worried him.

_Did he get any sleep at all last night? _Dean wondered.

Reluctantly, he rolled off his bed, and grabbed a t-shirt and pair of jeans. He pulled them on, and rushed downstairs. Sam stood by the counter, holding a plate with a meager piece of toast on it.

"Come on, Mom." He protested. "You're sending him into battle with toast for breakfast?" He ruffled Sam's hair. "He'll need all the energy he can get."

"This is what he asked for." Mary defended herself. She looked down at Sam, dipping her head slightly, concern etching across her face.

"Sam, you're not worried about school, are you?" Mary asked. She pulled Sam's chin up to see his eyes, pity racing through her heart at the fear residing in them.

"No," Sam whispered hoarsely, jerking his chin out of her grip. He let out a breathy laugh, void of any humor. "After all, what's to worry about? Just a building full of kids who probably hate my guts." He blew out a breath, closing his eyes for a moment. "I'd be surprised if I made it home in one piece."

Dean placed a hand on his shoulder. "I won't let them hurt you, Sam." He promised.

Sam smiled, but he didn't meet Dean's eyes. "Sure." He agreed quietly.

* * *

><p><em>Sam sat shivering on the cold metal table, the paper gown providing no warmth. He curled his arms around his legs, attempting to conserve body heat. He caught sight of the plastic bracelet now decorating his wrist. <em>

_Samuel 87763 TK - TP _

_His name. His number. His powers. _

_His identity. This was who he was now. A name, a number, and a couple letters summed up his entire existence. _

_Sam couldn't believe that less than 24 hours ago, he had been normal. Worried about homework, and football practice. Now…he had no idea where he was. No, scratch that. He knew where he was. He was where the psychics went. Where they were never seen again. _

_The door opened with a _whoosh_. Sam looked up in fear, his breath catching. _

_A man in a long white coat entered, flanked by two guards. The man had a severe expression, and cold, emotionless eyes. His nametag read Dr. Durang._

"_Please." Sam croaked, his throat sore from crying. "This is a mistake. I need to go home." _

_Dr. Durang laughed cruelly. "There are no mistakes, Samuel." He assured Sam. "And you are home. For now." _

_He nodded to the guards. "Take him. Let's get to Test Room B."_

_Sam felt fear seize up his throat. He shook his head frantically, scooting away as far as he could, until the shackle on his ankle went taut. He felt tears stinging his eyes, and he blinked them away. He would never cry in front of this man. Ever. _

_The two guards gripped his arms, and unattached the shackle. They dragged him out of the room, Sam fighting every inch of the way._

They can't break me._ He promised himself. _They will _never_ break me.

* * *

><p>Sam's head jerked up when the car jolted to a stop. Dean cursed.<p>

"Geez, Mom, go easy on the brakes, huh?" He protested grumpily.

Sam blinked the sleep from his eyes. On the way to school, his eyes had apparently decided to catch up on the much needed sleep he had missed last night.

"Sorry," Mary apologized. "I'm just…" She glanced back in the rearview mirror at Sam. "Stressed." She finished.

"Well, relax, okay?" Dean grumbled snappily. "I'd rather _not_ die on the way to school."

Mary sighed, and pulled into the school parking lot. Sam looked out the window as the car slowed to a stop. Mary stepped out, and opened Sam's door. He stepped out, stretching for a moment. Looking up at the large high school, Sam felt his knees go weak.

His hand reached up to grab his tag, covering up the words printed on it. He swallowed, looking over at Dean with wide eyes. Dean offered a half smile, and walked over to Sam. He placed a hand firmly on Sam's shoulder.

"You ready?" He asked. Sam looked up, uncertain.

Mary walked over, and looked at Sam with a gentle expression. "I can go in with you if you want." She suggested. "I got all the paperwork figured out before today, but…" She trailed off.

Sam shook his head. He was already going to be the freak at school. He didn't want to be labeled as the baby as well.

"Okay." Mary said, unsure. "Will you two ride the bus home?" She asked.

"Probably," Dean guessed. "If we need a ride, I'll call you." With that, he pulled Sam toward the large building.

Dean led the way to the school, Sam trailing behind him. As they entered, Sam shivered at the smell. It smelled too clean. Like the labs. His throat tightened against the gag reflex it triggered. Sam took a deep breath through his mouth, and exhaled sharply.

_I can do this._ He told himself. _Just get through today. Second by second. _

There were kids coating both sides of the hallway. At first, they didn't seem to take notice of either of them. But, as they walked past, one of the kids turned to their friend and whispered in their ear. Sam trained his eyes on the floor, but he heard the murmurs.

"...attacked TJ's gang…"

"...a psychic…"

"...almost _killed_ a few of them…"

Sam felt his face burn, even though he knew that he shouldn't be ashamed. TJ had attacked first. He hadn't done anything wrong. But he knew that wasn't how the outside world would see it.

Sam glanced up at Dean, to see him glaring at the kids around them. After catching his eye, the kids quickly averted their eyes, still gossiping among themselves. Dean wrapped an arm over Sam's shoulders for a moment, before stepping away. He nodded at the row of lockers to their right.

"Your locker number's 443." He told him. "Mom told me."

Sam nodded silently, feeling his heart pound in his throat. He adjusted the strap of his backpack, and walked toward the locker. The kids parted to allow him to find his locker. He fiddled with the lock for a moment, before it popped open.

"Just keep your head down and you won't get shived." A girl's voice next to him said.

Sam's head jerked up, and he looked at the girl in shock. She had black, chin length hair, colored with purple streaks. She wore black tights under ripped jeans, and a purple long sleeved shirt, with some kind of black vest over it.

Sam recovered his voice enough to shakily speak. "Shanked." He corrected.

"Excuse me?" The girl questioned, crossing her arms defiantly.

"Shanked." Sam repeated. "A shive is meant for cutting. Shanks are for stabbing." His voice faded out, and he averted his gaze to the floor, certain that he had just scared away the one person here that had showed an interest in an alliance.

However, the girl merely laughed. "Sure. You some kind of genius?"

Sam cracked a smile. "Don't have to be a genius. Just a good memory."

"Let me clue you in on a little secret." The girl leaned in conspiratorially. "That's basically the same thing." She whispered.

"I'm Maia." She informed him. Maia took a confident pose, leaning up against the lockers. Most of the other kids around them had cleared away, heading towards their classes. As two of them walked away, Sam caught the last of their conversation.

"Kind of fitting, ya know?" One whispered. "Freak and Psycho."

Sam stared after the person for a moment, surprised at the hurt he felt. Maia snapped her fingers in front of Sam's face. "Don't listen to them." She ordered quietly, her face subdued. Sam saw her gaze flicker to his tag, and then back up to his face.

Her expression brightened, and her attitude reappeared. "So, you go by any other name than Psycho?"

"Sam." He whispered after a stunned pause.

"Well, Sam." Maia gestured broadly around her at the empty hallway, most people in their classrooms by now. "Welcome to Lawrence High."

Someone brushed by her angrily, bumping her shoulder. "Watch it, Freak." They snapped at her, before rushing on.

Maia took no notice, merely pausing for a moment. "I think you'll find that we have much in common."

* * *

><p><strong>I think I promised someone that this would be out last Friday. <strong>

**Oops. **

**I hope you liked it. Please let me know if you did. **


	7. Vision

**Hey guys! I am getting a ton of support for this story, and I can't believe that everyone likes it so much. Thanks to everyone who's followed and/or favorited, and a big thanks to those who've reviewed. I love all of the encouragement.**

**Chapter 7 - Vision**

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><p>Sam held back a groan as the teacher up front droned on and on. The teacher, Mr. Darwin, who had a large belly and small face, gestured languidly back at the whiteboard, which had pre-algebra problems scrawled sloppily across the surface.<p>

Sam gazed down at his notebook with disregard. He had learned all of this before. Even before he was taken, he had participated in all of the advanced classes he could. He had been learning pre-algebra when he was twelve.

After he was taken, he didn't go to school much. He was deemed to "unpredictable" and "unstable" to be in a "partially unsupervised environment". However, he hadn't stopped learning. He had stayed up for stolen hours on the computer, learning into the night.

He had almost finished a calculus course from a free program at his last Care home. And here he was, learning pre-algebra. Again.

Maia sat beside him, dumb luck having given them three out of the five classes together. She caught Sam's eye, and rolled her's in an exaggerated motion. Sam smiled.

"Does anyone want to complete this problem on the board?" Mr. Darwin drawled. He looked across the room lazily, gazing at the roomful of unenthusiastic children.

Sam watched as the teacher's eye settled on him. He saw Mr. Darwin zero in on the tag, and then back up to Sam's face. Mr. Darwin's eyes narrowed, and Sam slumped slightly, knowing from experience that he had just gained an enemy.

"How about our new student shows us?" He suggested. A small triumphant smile made it's way onto Mr. Darwin's small piggy face. He knew that psychics were very rarely educated, and had a vastly limited knowledge of the things normal kids learned in school.

_He's trying to make a fool of me._ Sam realized. He felt a bud of satisfaction settle in his stomach. _Just you wait and see, Darwin._

Sam stood up, keeping his face void of any emotion, and walked briskly up to the board. He pulled a marker off of the ledge and quickly worked out the problem, circling the answer at the end. He plunked the marker down, and spun around, walking just as smoothly to his seat. There were murmurs of kids around him, some jealous, some reluctantly admiring, and others scornful.

Sam met Maia's eyes, and she stifled a laugh. Sam had to hold back his own amusement, watching Mr. Darwin floundering for words at the front of the room.

Finally, he seemed to regain control of his tongue. "Well, I can see that we have a _prodigy _in our midst." He sneered, glaring at Sam. "Let us _hope_ that we can strive to be as successful as he."

Sam's satisfaction vanished as the faces of the kids around him turned hostile. His face burned, and he stared at his hands for the remaining class time, unsure exactly why he felt ashamed.

When the bell finally rang, saving him, he dashed out into the hallway, Maia following closely. Sam walked briskly toward his next class, which he and Maia did not share.

"Wait, Sam." She protested. "He's just jealous, he doesn't like being shown up."

"I can tell." Sam muttered. He sped up, trying to lose her.

Maia reached out a hand, and grabbed Sam's arm. She pulled him to a stop, gripping him tightly as she caught her breath.

"Stop, Sam." She ordered breathlessly. "Don't let him get to you, okay? That was amazing, no matter what anyone else says."

Sam slumped. "No matter what I do, they hate me." He looked up at Maia in desperation as kids started to trail by.

"Don't you think I realize that?" Maia whispered, staring at Sam intently. "I've always been called a freak, for one thing or another. Finally, I just decided to stop caring."

"But I do care!" Sam objected. "How can I not care?"

"By focusing on the people that like and love you anyway." Maia answered with certainty. "Now go to class." She lightly shoved him away. "I'll wait for you at lunch, kay?"

"Okay." Sam relented, and he stood immobile for a moment, watching her walk away.

* * *

><p>Sam stared up at the clock, silently begging it to move faster. Just five minutes until the bell rang, and school would be over.<p>

Mrs. Bennet, the language arts teacher, stabbed a slender finger at the board. She shrieked loudly, spouting verbs and infinitives excitedly. Sam pressed a hand against his skull, the woman's voice gradually creating a headache behind his eyes.

Finally, the blissfully loud bell rang out, and the kids scrambled to gather their things and head for the bus. Sam took his time, safe in the knowledge that Dean would call his mother to pick them up.

When Sam walked into the hallway, it was still partially crowded with stragglers. Searching briefly, he found Maia, hanging out by the water fountains. She caught his eye and perked up, walking over to him.

"So, how was "language arts"? She asked with a dramatic flourish. "Did you just love, love, love, lovelovelovelove it?" She asked in a cruel depiction of Mrs. Bennet.

Sam laughed softly, wincing as her squeaky tone brought his headache back with a sharp pang. He looked over at Maia. "Thanks." He said breezily, attempting nonchalance.

"For what?" Maia questioned, copying his air of ease.

"You know, helping me out." He answered, shrugging. "When no one else would."

"That guy you came in with seemed pretty cool." Maia remembered. "He a friend?"

"He's…" Sam hesitated. "Dean. My brother." A smile burst onto his face as he realized how easily the word came to him. Brother. His brother.

Maia smiled back, seemily understanding. "Dean." She thought for a moment. "He's hot." She decided. "He's got that whole bad boy thing going for him, you know?"

Sam laughed. "What does that make me? Adorable? Like a puppy?"

Maia leaned in closely, her breath tickling his ear for a moment. "Please, Sam. Girls love puppies." Then she pulled back, her face a flustered pink.

Sam grinned broadly at her discomfort, his own face a shade of magenta. Suddenly, he pressed a hand against his temple as the pain grew to a pulsing pain, feeling like a small pocketknife being stabbed into his head.

"Ah," He moaned, reaching out for the wall for support. He closed his eyes, fear closing in on him when the light was distorted by flashes of images of some other place. Not here. Not now. Not in front of Maia.

"Sam?" Maia's voice sounded slightly distant, and muffled, like he was hearing her underwater. Her voice also sounded laced with concern. Sam opened his mouth, to assure her that it would pass, that he would be fine, but a pained moan is the only sound he could make.

Sam felt something slam into his backside, and then onto his side. He felt cool linoleum on his cheek, and in the back of his mind, he concluded that he must have fallen.

The pain grew to an agonizing level, and his cry of pain was louder, echoing down the halls of the school. The flashes grew more intense, the images flickering in front of his vision.

_A girl with straight brown hair walked down the hallway of a school._

Sam fought to pull himself out of the vision. He didn't want to. Didn't want to see it. Another death. One he couldn't stop.

_She glanced over her shoulder, at the group of kids about to pass her. Her eyes widened in slight fear. _

NO! He struggled uselessly to force his eyes open, to see Maia, Dean, Mary, anyone other than this girl. _Please,_ He silently begged. _I don't want to see it. _

With a sharp stab of pain, he felt all traces of the real world slip away, until there was nothing but this hallway, this girl.

_She huddled against the wall to avoid them, but they still crashed straight into her, not bothering to step away at all. _

"_Watch it, Psychic." One of them spat. Another shoved the books out of her arms, sending them tumbling to the floor. _

_The girl avoided eye contact, ignoring them as she leaned down to pick up her books. The kids laughed cruelly, jostling each other as they sauntered away. _

_The girl sniffed, and looked up at the ceiling, blinking rapidly to dispel the tears pricking her eyes. With a deep breath, she seemed to pull herself together. She stood up, her shoulders hunched. She trudged out to the parking lot, and glanced around bleakly. _

_She waited patiently, staring down at the sidewalk. Without warning, a red pickup truck screeched to a stop next to the girl, bearing no licence plates. She stared up in alarm, taking a few uncertain steps back. _

_A figure clothed in darkness leaped out of the truck, and came charging at the slight girl. She stumbled backwards, and tripped, landing solidly on the ground. The disguised man grabbed her roughly, yanking her to her feet. _

_The girl screamed in anger, fighting to get away from him. He shoved a hand into his back pocket and came out with a damp cloth. The stranger fixed their hand over the girl's mouth. Her eyes flared in panic, and she twisted her fragile frame, trying to regain freedom._

_The figure held fast, confining her. Gradually, her movements lost their jerky quality, and her struggles grew weak. The man quickly pulled the girl over to the truck, and tossed her in the backseat, after hastily binding her wrists and ankles. _

_The man jumped into the front seat, and pressed the pedal, sending the truck careening down the aisle, and out of the parking lot, a small cloud in it's wake._

* * *

><p>Maia stared down at her friend in fear. He was curled in on himself, gripping his head, and making whimpering sounds. She leaned down cautiously, and extended a shaking hand.<p>

"Sam?" Her voice barely came out as a whisper. She touched his shoulder lightly, he arched his back, letting out a shrill cry of pain.

Maia felt panic shoot through her. What was happening? Was _this _his psychic ability? Profound agony?

A teacher entered the hallway, looking up and down for the source of the sounds. Their eyes caught the form of a child curled up on the floor at the other end of the hallway. The teacher, Ms. Emile, turned back to her class of fifth graders, all looking at her in apprehension.

"Jason, hand me my phone." She ordered. The frightened child stumbled out of his seat, and rushed over to her desk. He rummaged around until he found the object of his search, and hurried to Ms. Emile.

She took the phone with a calming smile. "Thank you." She said to him. Jason walked back to his seat, and with a red face, sat down.

Ms. Emile scanned the faces of her pupils, searching for the most tranquil. Her gaze settled on Maria, a natural-born leader.

"Maria's in charge for now." Ms. Emile declared. The children turned to look at Maria, who sat up a little straighter, and fixed a look of confusion on her teacher.

"Just play a game or something until I or another teacher get back." She clarified.

With that, she ran out to the hallway, and toward the student, around whom a crowd was forming. Ms. Emile shoved her way through the kids, and kneeled next to a shocked girl. Ms. Emile recognized her as Maia, the troublemaker. Maia, who always kept a facade up, and never showed weakness. Maia, whose expression revealed her terror in that moment.

Ms. Emile took in the teenaged boy trembling on the floor. His fingers twisted into his hair, and his breath came in short, pained bursts. Ms. Emile frowned in concern. She opened her phone and quickly dialed 911. Holding the phone up to her ear, she explained to the operator the situation.

"We'll have an ambulance dispatched to your location within a few minutes." There was a pause. "ETA's five minutes."

Ms. Emile felt relief flood throughout her. She didn't want this boy to suffer. As she knelt by the boy, a small tag attached to a chain around his neck caught her attention. A mixture of fear and pity shot through her heart. Poor boy. Poor, poor boy.

Maia looked up at Ms. Emile, and then at the phone. 911. She'd called 911. Maia wasn't sure why, but she got the feeling that Sam didn't need a hospital. Call it her female intuition.

She turned to a kid behind her. Gabriel, a gentle sixth grader. Maia reached out and grabbed her arm.

"Hey, I need you to find someone for me, okay?" The girl, who had been staring in a mix of fear and awe at Sam, turned her gaze to Maia. She nodded almost imperceptibly.

"Dean Winchester." Maia answered. Her head jerked up as the sound of sirens became heard. She turned back to Gabriel.

"Find him fast."

* * *

><p><strong>There you go. Hope you enjoyed. <strong>

**If you did, let me know. : )**

**Cheers!**


	8. Problems

**I don't think a long intro is needed here… **

**You all know how grateful I am. : )**

**Without further ado…**

**Chapter 8 - Problems**

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><p>Like before. It was just like before. A sharp pain in his head, echos of the vision reverberating in his skull. The strange numbness that accompanied the aftermath of a vision, radiating throughout his whole body.<p>

Voices spoke, muffled, just outside of his hearing. Sam didn't try to hear them, wanting to stay deep in the dark, where it was safe, and quiet, and didn't hurt so much.

Dean. The name drifted through his consciousness. Dean would be worried.

_Let him worry._ Part of Sam's brain argued. _I don't want to wake up. _

But Sam couldn't do that. Not after everything Dean had done for him. He couldn't scare him like that.

Grudgingly, Sam started to painstakingly pull himself to the surface. The darkness clinged to him like syrup, urging him to drift back down, fall asleep, relax. Sam resisted, pushing harder to wake up.

As the darkness turned to light, the pain became sharper. The regular, post-vision pain he was accustomed to was present, but so was another pain. A deeper pain, on the side of his head.

The pain was dull, but strong, almost pulsing to affect the whole right side of his head. A bout of nausea overtook him for a moment.

Sam pried his eyes open, and the sense of nausea grew more powerful with the dizziness that presented itself. Everything around him was a strange blur, and nothing was focusing. Sam felt a seed of fear plant itself deep in his chest. Voices echoed around him, growing louder and clearer, and then fading to murmurs.

"...Sam..._hear me…"_

"...clear a path..._make way…_"

"_...vitals...fine..._check him...ER."

Something about the voices made Sam anxious. The words they said, the way they said them, just scared him. Sam wanted to run away. Fast.

Sam tried to move a hand, but couldn't tell if he succeeded. Panic made him whimper, and mentally, he begged for the one person he thought could make this better.

Dean.

"D'n." He slurred, the people above him barely coming into focus. A severe-looking woman with brown hair pulled back into a tight bun had his wrist in her hand, and was taking his pulse. On his other side, a young man with long blondish hair, pulled back into a loose ponytail.

"What's that, kid?" The man asked gently. He reached up toward Sam's face, and placed a mask over his mouth and nose.

Terror shot through Sam's veins, and he let out a strangled noise, lurching to the side. He coughed terrifically, and moaned, the twisting in his stomach made even worse by the ache in his head.

They had never hurt this bad. Slight discomfort afterwards, that was all. What had caused this horrible pain, this pulsing ache?

"Whoa, slow down kid." The man grasped Sam's shoulders, straightening him out again. "We got you."

The movement shifted Sam's t-shirt, exposing his tag. Sam noticed even in his delirious state how the woman's lips tightened ever-so-slightly, and the man's hands faltered for a moment.

"Alec," The woman muttered. "Keep working. It doesn't matter."

The young man, only in his early twenties, nodded solemnly. He adjusted the mask fixed over Sam's mouth and nose, earning a scared moan in response. Alec placed a reassuring hand on Sam's shoulder.

"Just hang in there, kid." Alec whispered. "Everything'll be fine."

Sam's vision started to go out again, but he barely made out a stretcher laid out next to him. He felt tears prick his eyes. He wanted Dean.

* * *

><p>Dean stood at his locker, trying to remember what he had for homework. Math? Lit? Science? Finally, he gave up with a sigh, and slammed his locker shut. The metallic clang echoed down the hallway, though there was nearly no one left to hear it. Most of the kids were on the bus home by now.<p>

Dean shouldered his backpack, and started down the hallway, trying to remember where the freshman hallway was. As he wandered slowly down the senior section of the school, a girl came careening out of a hallway to the right.

Automatically, Dean thought, _Yeah, that's where the freshman hallway is…_ Then his brain lit up in alarm. He broke into a run toward the girl, who was twisting her head back and forth, obviously on the lookout for someone. Dean felt dread seep through his veins.

"Hey!" He called out to her as he got close. "You looking for someone?"

The girl slowed to a stop, her hands on her knees, sucking in deep breaths. She looked up at him, her soft brown hair in braids over both shoulders.

"Are...are you...Dean...Winch…"She gasped, still desperately out of breath.

"Winchester?" He finished for her. She nodded rapidly.

"Well, you found me." He affirmed grimly. "What do you want?"

He saw the relief in her eyes at finding him, and yet there was a fear, a shaken presence there that unsettled Dean. The sense of dread was increasing with every second he spent with this girl.

"Some freshman...collapsed...concussion...taking him to….hospital…" She wheezed. "Maia told me...find...Dean…."

Dean felt frozen. Sam. It had to be him. Was it a vision? Did someone beat him up?

Dean felt himself moving before he realized he was. He felt numb, and at the same time, there was a sense of urgency, and horrible, paralyzing, helplessness.

_I'm coming, Sammy. _He thought determinedly to himself. _I'm coming. _

Dean tore down the hallways, dodging a few teachers in the process. He lurched around a corner, and came to a T intersection, looking down both paths. Dismay gripped him as he realized that he didn't know where his little brother was. He was suffering, alone, and scared somewhere, and Dean had no idea how to find him.

As his frantic heartbeat calmed slightly, he became aware of a siren echoing down the right hallway. Without hesitation, Dean sprinted down the hallway, coming to a stop by the entrance to the school.

An ambulance sat outside the school, and two EMT's were starting to pull the doors closed. Inside, Dean saw a figure lying on a cot, struggling weakly. His head raised, and the soft hazel eyes met Dean's.

"No!" Dean cried, shoving through the crowd of kids, desperately trying to reach Sam. His little brother. As he pried open the doors of the school, the ambulance peeled away, siren screeching. Dean ran his hands anxiously through his hair, and regretting asking his mom for a ride home. Dean had thought Sam might like to see a familiar face right after school, some kind of repetition.

_Guess that's off the table,_ Dean thought bitterly. He fumbled for his phone in his backpack, and brought it out with shaking fingers.

"Mom?" Dean's voice shook. "We have a problem."

* * *

><p>Ava was cloaked in darkness.<p>

It was soft, and calm. Cold, too, but after everything Ava had been through, she'd learned to look on the bright side.

She felt relaxed, like everything was fine. Ava knew something was wrong. This situation wasn't quite right. But she didn't dig deep to find an answer. She just wanted to enjoy the quiet and peacefulness.

But she couldn't keep those treacherous thoughts out of her brain for long.

_Where am I?_

_What happened?_

Ava fought to fall back into that oblivion, but she could feel her body slowly waking up, dragging her consciousness along for the ride. Reluctantly, she surfaced.

It was dark. But not like the other dark, the comforting dark. This was a sinister dark, forged in fear.

Her breath whistled loudly, too loudly. She quickly quieted it, and glanced about her.

Cold metal surrounded her, bars on all sides. A cage.

Ava's heart lurched. Was she in jail? What had she done?

"Hello?" She called out uncertainly, her voice harsh and sudden in the silence.

"Shhh…" Someone to her right urged. She looked over warily, and could just make out a figure in the gloom, enclosed in a cage. A child. Like her.

"You have to be quiet." The boy insisted, his voice shaking. "Or else he'll hear you…"

"Who is it?" Ava asked, her heart galloping. She attempted to scoot forward for a better view of her companion, and was startled by a clinking at her side. Glancing down, she couldn't hold back a whimper at the sight of the shackle on her wrist, the chain extending to the outside of the cage.

Ava felt her fear overlayed with a desperate determination. She crawled toward the bars on her hands and knees, as it cage was short, as if meant for a dog. She gripped the bars, peering out into the gloom.

Suddenly, the door swung open. Ava's head snapped over to look, and she shrank back slightly. The boy in the other cage whimpered.

A man walked into her line of vision. He stood tall, with his hands casually in his deep labcoat pockets. His hair was short, and graying, and but his shoulders were strong.

However, the most prominent feature of his was his eyes. Bright, clear, icy blue. They penetrated her mind, and chilled her to the bone. The man leaned down slowly, lowering himself to his knees.

Ava watched him like he was a snake, never taking her eyes off of him or blinking. The man reached out a hand, as if he wanted to touch her, but then thought better of it, and pulled back.

"Where am I?" She asked clearly, proud that despite her fear, her voice was steady, and calm.

"Where you need to be." The man said vaguely, nodding solemnly.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Ava asked sharply, narrowing her eyes.

The man offered a slight smile. A long pause ensued. "I'm bringing the group together." He said suddenly.

Ava narrowed her eyes. "What group? What are you talking about?"

The man gazed at her in amusement, his icy blue eyes twinkling. "Don't you worry about it, dear Ava."

Ava felt her heart lurch. How did he know her name?

She felt a tug on her wrist. The man was gripping the chain that extended to her wrist. She yelped and scrambled backwards, clinging to the bars. The man tsked, and yanked harshly on the chain, pulling her forward. She was dragged forward, knees skinning against the ground.

The man opened a section of the bars, easing her hand through as to not bruise her skin against the edge of one of the bars. He took out a small syringe from his pocket.

"No…" Ava moaned, horrible memories rushing back at her. "Please, don't…"

"Shh…" The man soothed her. Suddenly, he slid the needle in, pushing down the plunger. Ava cried out, and turned her face away.

"There," The man sighed. "Now you should be able to sleep."

Ava collapsed onto the cool metal floor, her vision already tunneling. With her remaining strength, she dragged herself back sluggishly, away from the front of the cage.

"Stay...away…" Ava slurred. "Leave me… 'lone." Her head dipped, and she couldn't find the strength to pull it back up.

"Sleep, little Ava." The man murmured to her. "I'll bring you some new friends soon."

* * *

><p>Sam blinked his eyes open, nausea twisting and turning in his stomach like a rabid animal. He groaned, trying to roll over, but something stopped him. Lifting his head slightly, he saw a blanket covering his body.<p>

Sam jerked his hand up, but it was pinned to the mattress by some sort of restraint. He layed his head back, taking in controlled breaths, trying to get a handle on the wide feeling of confinement racing through his body. Gently tugging on each of his other limbs confirmed that he was being held to the mattress by wrists and ankles.

_Don't panic. Don't panic. _Sam urged himself, even though his heart was already beginning to race. Flashes of older, harsher restraints danced into his memory. Syringes. Scanners. Doctors in masks. Labcoats. Tables.

Sam tried to control his labored breathing, but it escalated anyway. Sam's vision began to fuzz over as he hyperventilated.

Sam jerked against the restraints, thrashing even harder when none of them gave way. He felt tears run down his face, and he felt light headed. He had to get out. Now.

Suddenly, the door burst open. Footsteps came pounding into the room. Sam cringed away from them, not wanting their probing fingers touching him, their big machines, their harsh voices shouting in his ear.

"Sammy!" Someone shouted, a voice full of distress, and Sam's heart automatically relaxed in relief and then seized up in desperate longing.

"Dean!" Sam sobbed, and collapsed against the sheets. He kept his eyes closed, crying. He felt someone sit down next to him, and he opened his eyes to see Dean gazing down at him in relief and worry.

"Really, Sammy, how in the world do you get into situations like this?" Dean whispered, laying a hand on his shoulders. His face was relaxed, attempting nonchalance, but Sam could clearly see the worry and concern. "This is more than something you learned from me. This is clearly all you."

Sam tried to smile, but the pressure of the cuffs on his wrists was beginning to choke him again, making him feel like there was a restraint over his neck as well. He swallowed down the bile that rose as the feeling of confinement became stronger.

"Dean." Sam rasped. "Take them off."

Dean frowned in confusion, then his eyes moved to the blanket. His eyes narrowed, as if to say, _They wouldn't dare…_ He pulled back the sheet, and hissed at the sight of the cuffs.

"Take them off." Sam begged. "I….I can't breathe."

Another person walked around his bed. John looked down in concern. Dean glared up at his father.

"Dad." He spat through gritted teeth. "They put him in cuffs."

John nodded. He reached down and jerked one of the cuffs open in one smooth motion. Then he pulled the blanket down further, and opened the one ankle cuff open. Dean grinned and followed suit, yanking both of the right cuffs open.

Sam sat up, gasping in relief. He shuddered once, drawing his knees his chest. He wrapped his arms around them, and placed his forehead against his knees, taking a few steadying breaths.

Sam felt a hand touch his shoulder, bracing him. It was heavier than Dean's, who slid his own arm around Sam. John, showing his silent support. Another loud sob escaped Sam, though he tried to choke it down.

"Shh, Sammy," Dean soothed. "We're here now."

"M-Mary?" Sam stuttered. Calling her by her name almost seemed wrong. It insinuated that she was merely a friend, or an acquaintance. In reality, she was so much more than that. In the short time he had known her, she had shown him more acceptance and love than anyone had in two long years. It was the same with Dean, and even John, though Sam didn't know him as well.

"She'll be up as soon as she can." John assured Sam. "She dropped us off at the entrance and went to find a parking spot."

Sam nodded absently, taking slow controlled breaths. A sudden breeze on his back gave him chills, and he felt his face redden with self consciousness. He was wearing a long hospital gown, and dark blue hospital pants.

"I want to go home." He whispered, pleased that the home he pictured was the Winchester's quaint little house.

"I know." Dean agreed. "We'll get home just as soon as we can."

Sam groaned suddenly, his head breaking out in a fierce ache. Dean gripped his arm in concern.

"What? Sammy, you okay?" He asked urgently, looking Sam up and down.

"Headache." Sam moaned. He looked up to see Dean and John exchanging a worried glance. "It's not a vision-headache." He grumbled. "Just a normal, head-splitting one."

Dean rubbed Sam's shoulders as Sam set his head back onto his knees. "Hang in there." He whispered. "We'll get you out of here as soon as we can."

Without warning, the door to Sam's room opened again, and a doctor walked in holding a clip board, flanked by a nurse. He glanced up lazily, and took a shocked step back at the sight of Sam sitting up.

"He-he can't be up." The doctor protested. "It's against every regulation regarding psychics!"

Sam pulled his head up, but dropped it again when he saw the doctor's frenzied expression. This was old news. He knew how people thought of him.

John narrowed his eyes at the doctor. "Sam is not going back into the restraints." He stated firmly, a slight threat underlying his statement.

The doctor looked regretful to stand against the likes of John Winchester, but he still spoke. "He has to. It's hospital policy."

"I don't care about your hospital policy!" John shouted. Sam flinched, but wasn't afraid. "Sam didn't do anything, and won't do anything!"

"Sir, he has to." The man still protested, looking more and more like a child begging to be right.

John opened his mouth to lay into the doctor even more, but Dean intervened. "What exactly is wrong with Sam?" he questioned.

"He collapsed." The doctor replied grudgingly.

Dean narrowed his eyes as well. "I'm not an idiot. He had a vision. He's a psychic. Which you obviously know about since you stuck him in those." He gestured angrily to the cuffs.

"He had a mild concussion." The man informed them, almost coldly. "We figured it was slightly beneficial to him that we didn't leave him there to die of a stroke."

"So you drag him here and scare him half to death," Dean accused. Then he shook his head. "This doesn't matter. When can he come home?"

"We made sure it was only mild." The doctor assured them, while still disgruntled. "He should be fine to return home whenever."

"Now." Both elder Winchesters said, then looked at the other with a wry smile.

"Fine." The doctor confirmed. "I'll bring the release papers." With that, he left the room swiftly, trying to regain some of his lost dignity.

* * *

><p>Sam leaned against the car window, still trying to get a handle on the slight motion sickness spinning in his stomach. He closed his eyes for a moment, and then jerked them open again.<p>

_Closed is worse. _He confirmed to himself. _Closed is definitely worse._

"How you doing, Sam?" Mary asked from the drivers seat. She glanced back at him in the rearview mirror, worry infesting her gaze. Sam shot her a weak smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Have heard from Pearson?" Dean asked. "Seems like this would be the kind of thing that he would wet his pants for."

"Not yet." John warned. "But I'm sure it's only a matter of-"

His phone buzzed in his pocket. John dug it out, glanced at the caller ID, and sagged. He groaned, running a hand over his face.

"Speak of the devil, and the devil shall appear," Mary muttered, her hands clenching the steering wheel, knuckles white.

John sighed, and raised the phone to his ear. "Pearson." He barked as a greeting. His eyes narrowed as the other party spoke, and then bugged out in shock. "You can't be serious!" He protested. "That's ridiculous!"

He pulled the phone away from his ear, and glanced back at Sam regretfully.

Sam felt fear sieze his heart. "What?" He croaked.

"Unfortunately, Mr. Pearson does not believe this is a viable reason to skip your session with Dr. Neville." John told Sam.

Sam relaxed. Not as bad as he thought it was going to be.

Besides, how bad could this Neville character be?

* * *

><p>Mary pulled into the driveway of the house written on the business card. She gazed at it suspiciously, as did the rest of the car load. Then, reluctantly, She stepped out, everyone else following suit.<p>

Sam walked next to Mary up to the house, an odd feeling of dread growing in his stomach as he did. She knocked on the door, a sound that reverberated in Sam's stomach, increasing his nausea.

The door opened promptly, and a man stepped out, a small smile on his face. The man looked about thirty, with a young face. However, Sam judged, he must have had a stressful job, as his hair was peppery, bordering on gray.

Sam met the man's eyes, and was chilled by the obvious intelligence in them. However, there was something...off about them. Perhaps it was how they looked too focused, like camera lenses that were about to take a snapshot. Or perhaps it was the strange way he seemed to only have eyes for Sam, glancing uninterestedly at the others, and ending up back at Sam.

Or, perhaps, it was the color. Sam had always thought of the color as comforting. But, he decided, on this man, it was creepy and chilling.

The man's eyes were a very bright shade of icy blue.

* * *

><p><strong>There you go. Hope you enjoyed. I would love to see your reactions to everything that has happened. <strong>

**Cheers!**


	9. History

**Chapter 9 - History**

* * *

><p>Sam shuddered as the man grinned down at him. Finally, the man looked to John and Mary, and opened his door wide, a sweeping arm gesturing them inside.<p>

"You must be…" Mary started, holding out a hand.

The man took her hand in his, gripping tightly. "Dr. Neville." He said in introduction.

Mary shook his hand with hesitation, narrowing her eyes as she assessed the man shrewdly. John reached forward and shook his hand as well. Dean hung back with Sam, his arm protectively wrapped around the younger boy.

Dr. Neville's gaze zeroed back on Sam. He smiled encouragingly at him, and then turned to his family.

"My sessions are private." He informed them quietly. "You may wait outside, but I need to be alone with Sam."

"No way." Dean disagreed. He took a small step toward the doctor, his stance widening.

The doctor took no notice. He merely focused on Mary and John. "Please." He opened the door again. "You're welcome to stay for a tour, but I doubt that Sam wants to be here for any longer than he has to."

Mary looked reluctantly at the open door, and met eyes with Sam, her expression conflicted. With a deep breath, Sam pulled away from Dean, nodding in agreement.

"It's okay." He assured the three. "I just want to get this over with."

Dr. Neville nodded, and grinned, as if everything were fine. "Of course."

As Mary, John, and Dean walked out, closing the door behind them, Sam felt dread closing in on all sides. His heart climbed into his throat, and he experienced the suffocating sense of claustrophobia. Sam's hand darted out and clutched the railing to the staircase nearby. He took a steadying breath, mentally urging himself to be strong.

When he looked up at the doctor, there was a fond amusement kindling in his eyes. It disturbed Sam.

"Please, Sam, take a seat in here." Dr. Neville gestured to the office. Somewhat reluctantly, Sam moved toward the room, glancing back over his shoulder to keep the man in his sights.

Dr. Neville closed the door behind them, a solid sounding _thunk_ that resonated inside Sam.

Dr. Neville took a seat in a chair adjacent to a cream couch. Hesitantly, Sam took a seat on the couch, sitting stiffly.

Dr. Neville sat back calmly, seeming at ease. "Please, Sam, make yourself at home."

Sam only narrowed his eyes, gingerly sitting back.

Dr. Neville sighed. "I can tell that this wasn't your idea, Sam. Your posture says as much." He stared Sam down until he shifted uncomfortably. "However, we do have an hour to spend in each other's company. So, we can either make it worth our while, or we can waste both of our time. Which do you prefer?"

Sam sighed. He leaned forward, resting his head in his hands. "This is stupid." He muttered. "Those kids were asking for it."

Dr. Neville smiled. He pulled something from his pocket, a phone, and pressed a few buttons, texting someone. "Of course they were."

* * *

><p>Sam glanced disconcertingly up at the clock. Only ten minutes left. Throughout the course of the session, he had reluctantly offered bits of information. Dr. Neville had stayed patient, never demanding more of him than he was ready to offer. However, though most might say he was an excellent doctor, there was something about the way Dr. Neville fixed his eyes on him, that chilled him to his core.<p>

"So, Sam," Dr. Neville leaned back in his chair, clasping his long fingers together. "There's one more thing I'd like to discuss."

"What?" Sam asked, his voice conveying his exhaustion.

"Your parents." Dr. Neville said. "How do you feel about them? And your brother?"

"Mary and John?" Sam said. "They're great. And Dean-"

Dr. Neville held up a hand, cutting him off. "Not what I meant, Sam. Your _real_ family. Your original family. Though it warms my heart to hear how fond you are of your Care family."

Sam narrowed his eyes, a wall closing down around him. Sam pressed his lips together, and sat back, crossing his arms defensively. He would talk about anything. Anything but that.

Dr. Neville tutted. "Come now, Sam. You are more intelligent than that. You know this won't help your case." When he got no reaction, he sighed, shaking his head sadly. "It's clear you're still grieving the loss of Daniel, and you miss your parents. That's very natural Sam. Missing your family does not make you weak."

Sam looked away, his arms quivering with tension. His teeth were gritted, and he had to stop himself from throttling the man.

"All psychics go through this, Sam." Dr. Neville assured him. "It's hard to go through life with such minimal security, and they often find themselves longing for their mother's arms, or their father's strong embrace." He leaned forward, propping himself on his elbows against the desk. "Loneliness is not a weakness, Sam. It just means that-"

Sam leaped to his feet, rage pouring off of him in waves. "I don't care about my family!" He shouted. "The only one I missed was Danny, and he's dead now!" Sam's eyes welled up with tears. "I wouldn't care if my parents went and drowned themselves after losing Danny. They should! It was their fault! After I left, it was their job to watch after him!" Sam seemed to lose his momentum, and he sagged, stray tears slipping down his cheeks. "It was their job...to do what I couldn't anymore...since they sent me away."

Dr. Neville smiled gently, and stood up. He walked around his desk to Sam, and held out tissue. Sam glowered at him, shoving the hand aside.

Dr. Neville placed a hand on Sam's shoulder. "Sam, it was never your job to take care of your brother. That responsibility was never yours. You shouldn't put that blame on yourself."

"I can't help it." Sam whispered bitterly. "I should have been there to protect him. I should have run away to find him. I should have never let them take me…"

"That wouldn't have worked, Sam." Dr. Neville assured him. "There was nothing you could have done. Daniel's death was tragic, but it was not your fault."

Sam closed his eyes, feeling the urge to admit something he hadn't wanted to. "I miss her. My mom." The tears spilled over, and Sam quickly swiped them away self-consciously. "I miss how she would kiss my head at night. I miss how she would let me cook with her at night. I miss how she used to ask me about my day."

"That's normal, Sam." Dr. Neville said gently. "You have to understand that your mother made her mistakes, but she was not an evil person. Never doubt that she loved you."

"She gave me up." Sam spat. "She looked right in my eyes and said that she didn't want me. How does that amount to love?"

"I know." Dr. Neville said somberly. "You, and all the psychic children, you deserve better."

"I just…" Sam sagged, letting out his breath. "I'm just tired of hating them all the time."

"Sam, the people we love most are usually the ones we hate the most often." Dr. Neville said quietly. When Sam looked up at his face, Dr. Neville was gazing at a picture hung on the wall. A redheaded girl with freckles and a bright smile took up the frame.

Sam took a shuddering breath, and wiped his eyes. He took a step back, shame at his outburst reddening his face.

Dr. Neville gave an amused smile. He crossed back to his desk, and piled up some papers. "That will be all for today, Sam. You're welcome to stay for a few minutes and collect yourself."

Sam shook his head, and quickly made a break for the door. He paused just outside the door, taking a few steadying breaths. After he assured himself that his eyes were dry, and pulled the door open, only to fall back a few steps.

"Sam." Mr. Pearson said coldly, disdain curling his lip. "We seem to continually meet this way, don't we?"

* * *

><p>Sam retreated a few steps, his eyes wide.<p>

"Oh, calm down, Sam." Mr. Pearson snarled. "I'm here to speak with Dr. Neville."

Mr. Pearson moved toward the room that Sam had just exited. Shaking slightly, Sam circled the room, keeping an even distance away from the man. Mr. Pearson smirked at the display, and he haughtily entered the office, letting the door swing shut behind him. Sam winced as the door slammed in the wind.

Sam couldn't really explain what possessed him to have this fear of his social worker. Other than the occasional hard grip on his arm, Mr. Pearson had never been physically abusive towards Sam. On the other hand, he had never been shy about expressing his dislike for the boy. Mr. Pearson had been fond of lecturing Sam on exactly why his species was a disgrace, and shouldn't even be allowed in normal society.

That was another thing. Mr. Pearson seemed unable to admit that Sam was actually human. In his opinion, Sam deserved to be hunted along with the other supernatural scum that plagued the Earth. Sam wasn't sure why a man who harbored such an obvious loathing for psychics would choose a line of work in which he interacted so often with them.

Perhaps the reason was related to the fact that he was involved in their lives so much. Not only was Pearson in charge of carting his psychic charges around, but he also had to go through the list of available Care homes, and find the most "suitable". In Mr. Pearson's eyes, it never seemed to be about which home was the best; it was about which home would crack down the hardest with punishment. To help this along, Mr. Pearson always made sure to hint to the Care parents that while physical punishment, such as beatings, nights without meals, confinement, or any other cruel forms of "discipline", wasn't technically allowed, it wouldn't be difficult to keep the infraction hidden.

Sam smiled wryly as he recalled how his Care parents used to react. They all seemed to have different reactions. The Benson's had pretended to be outraged, but Marcus Benson had no problem putting the hint to good use once Mr. Pearson left. Of course, two weeks after given the information, Mr. Benson was using it quite frequently, until Sam had to use his telekinesis in self-defense. That wasn't received well.

The Freemonts had laughed at the news, and seemed totally at ease with the idea. However, when Maria Freemont had lifted a hand to strike Sam, it was her husband Tom that stopped her. Sam managed to stay with the Freemonts for a whole month, not a Care home record by a long shot, but impressive for him. The problem occurred when Daniel was shot. Sam began acting out, rebelliously staying out, committing infringement after infringement. Eventually, it was Tom that admitted "the arrangement wasn't working for them".

The Emile's house was personally Sam's favorite. When given the news, they shrugged, seemingly uncaring one way or another. Even after Mr. Pearson left, they stuck to ignoring Sam, pretending there wasn't a child living in their house, crying himself to sleep at night. For four months, Sam mostly fended for himself, making his own breakfast, lunch, and, occasionally, dinner. He made himself take a shower every night, and got his homework done. In the big picture, the Emiles were the perfect fit for him at the time. They left him alone, which after Daniel's death, was all he wanted from other people.

However, out of all his Care homes, Mr. Pearson truly struck gold with the Denellis'. Not for Sam, but according to Mr. Pearson's book, this Care home was perfect. It had an amazing record with keeping psychics in line, and no squeamishness when it came to punishment. Sam spent two and a half months in that home. Worst two and a half months of his life. Jack Denellis, the head of the house, some days handed out beatings to his own children, so he had no qualms about giving them to Sam.

Over the course of two and a half months, Sam developed extreme anxiety, and was hardly able to speak for fear of being beaten. That didn't stop him from acting out. He was hoping that the Denellis would tire of beating him and just give him up. On the contrary, they relished the fresh challenge. The beatings came more frequently, and with harsher quality. He was locked inside a small closet until he begged to be let out, screaming and crying. He was starved until he was pleading and groveling for food. The Denellis did everything they could to break him. And, slowly, it began to work. When Sam spoke, his voice was only a quiet tremor. His hands shook with fear, and he was hardly able to focus on his schoolwork, or anything other than dealing with the pain.

When Madeleine, the Denellis oldest daughter, came home from college for a surprise visit, she was horrified to find the state her siblings were in, with bruises decorating their torsos and legs. However, she nearly broke down into tears when she met Sam, cowering in his room, a fresh beating apparent by the state of his abused face.

Madeleine called the police, which lead to an investigation of the family. The Denellis' children moved in with Madeleine outside the town, with no contact with their father, and only supervised visits with their mother. Sam, however, was supposed to stay with the man while they arranged a new Care home for him. Madeleine, though she felt for him, didn't offer to take him in. The sight of his tag seemed to close down something in her, shutting off the sympathy she had felt for him.

Sam remembered sprinting down the stairs to Madeleine's car, where she was loading her siblings into the vehicle. He gripped her arm, pleading with her to take him with her, not to leave him here. He remembered how she tugged her arm out of his grip, how she turned her back on him.

"Don't do this to me, kid." She had whispered, unable to voice his name, fearful that it would make her decision seem all the more inhumane. "It's not fair."

Sam recalled stepping back, dumbfounded, as his supposed "guardian angel" went off into the night, simultaneously stealing his hope, and his faith in humanity. If she, the kindest human being he had met, save for Daniel, didn't want him, who would?

That night brought the worst beating of his life. In the end, Sam ended up with a broken rib, a fractured arm, slight internal bleeding, and a long hospital visit. When most of his injuries were healed, Mr. Pearson signed him out of his fifth Care home, and brought him to his sixth, where he only stayed for a few months, again.

Of course, there were other Care homes along with the most memorable. Some were actually decent, and others were just stops along the way. Some brought disappointment, some heartbreak, some gave him hope only to tear it away.

The worst part of it was, the Denellis weren't the worst Care home that he had been in. The worst, by far, was the Winchesters. Sure, they seemed to care, but Sam was still waiting for them to get tired of him. He was still waiting for the other shoe to drop, because it would. It always did. And when it did, Sam wasn't sure he could handle it. He had let himself fall for the act. The act of kindness. Now, he had no choice but to wait until the inevitable became reality, and then try to pick up the pieces that would be his shattered life.

Sam felt a pang of pain in his heart, making it sting worse than he had ever felt. Slowly, he slid down the wall, until he was hunched over, his arms wrapped around his legs, which were pressed up into his chest. Sam sobbed once, tears sinking into his jeans. He didn't want the Winchesters to be fake. He wanted it to be real. He wanted it to be real so bad it hurt. Sam looked up, hitting the wall with his head once, tears blurring his vision.

He wanted it to be real.

"Sammy?" Dean's voice came from the door. Quickly, Sam wiped the tears from his face, and pushed himself up, blinking rapidly to dispel the wetness in his eyes. Sam saw Dean take a step inside, concern etched on his every feature. Sam tried to brush by him quickly, hoping to keep up the stoic facade. Dean's arms caught him, and pulled him back. Sam felt Dean's chin on the top of his head.

"What's wrong, Sammy?" Dean murmured. Sam felt the tears returning.

"I want it to be real." He whispered, more for himself than Dean's benefit. "I want it to be real so badly." His heart ached, and he wanted to pull away from Dean, free himself from this self-inflicted misery.

"Sammy, I know your other Care homes must have sucked." Dean said. He kept his grip firm, keeping Sam close. "I have no idea how bad they were, but I know they were bad." He shifted, pushing Sam slightly out so that he was gazing right into Sam's eyes. "But that will never happen to you here. I swear, I will take care of you." He pulled Sam back into the hug.

Sam closed his eyes. It was probably fake. It would probably hurt excruciatingly when the other shoe dropped. But until then, he had no choice other than to trust the Winchesters.

Come what may.

* * *

><p>Dr. Neville stood at his desk, gazing at another photo of the girl with red hair, this time a younger version of her, laughing as she held up fistfuls of sand on the vast expanse of beach.<p>

"What is _this?_" Mr. Pearson hissed, holding up his phone. He looked at it, and quickly read of the message. "'I have the boy. Come quickly. We can start ahead of schedule'." He glared at Dr. Neville. "You couldn't have seriously been considering taking him _here?_"

"Why not?" Dr. Neville snapped. "The boy's right where we want him here. There would be no evidence to condemn us. My prints would already be all over the place."

"You forget the family still waiting outside, who would be concerned if their charge came in, but _never came out!_" Mr. Pearson threw the phone to the couch, still steaming with anger. "They actually care for the freak. They wouldn't just accept money in exchange for their silence."

Dr. Neville sagged. "I know." He whispered, running a hand over his face. "We're running out of time. This needs to move faster."

Mr. Pearson walked up, and got right in Dr. Neville's face, forcing him to focus. "Sam must be the last that we collect. I know some people that can help us get the others with more efficiency, but _you _are going to need to keep your head. Remember, I recommended you to the Winchesters so that you could keep an eye on the most important part of our plan, as well as keep the Winchesters in the area. But if you lose it, the whole plan could fall apart." He strode back toward the door. At the last second, he turned back. "And continue with the experiments. It won't do if we do obtain Sam, only to have no idea what we're doing."

Dr. Neville nodded mutely, his eyes fixated back on the girl in the photos. Mr. Pearson sighed, and crossed the room. Gently, he laid a hand on Dr. Neville's arm.

"Remember why we're doing this, Gene." Mr. Pearson said. "For her. For Emilia. We'll get revenge on those who wronged her."

"And then we'll free the psychics." Dr. Neville finished, his eyes shining.

"Of course." Mr. Pearson agreed, his eyes gleaming with deception. "Then we'll free the psychics. All of them."

* * *

><p><strong>Oh my gosh! I am so super sorry, you guys! I kind of dropped the ball with this one. I don't even know how long it's been since I updated. *shudder*<strong>

**If you want an explanation as to why I wasn't updating, I was undergoing a slight "existential crisis". Look it up on Youtube. Danisnotonfire explains it pretty thoroughly in one of his videos. **

**In the spirit of Thanksgiving, which is when I'm officially updating this, I want to thank every one of my Followers, Favoriters, and Reviewers. You guys make this whole experience so amazing. I'm so grateful that this website exists, and that wonderful people like you take up your time to help me develop my skills as a writer. **

**Thanks for helping me. : ) **

**Cheers!**


	10. Brother

**Hey everybody! We've officially reached 10! YES!**

**Chapter 10 - Brother**

* * *

><p><em>The boy glanced around the park nervously, shifting his feet. He had his hands shoved deep into his pockets, and he shivered against the night breeze.<em>

_A figure emerged from the darkness. The first boy caught sight of the new arrival, and his shoulders relaxed. He started walking toward the second boy, who bore similar facial features. The first broke into a run, colliding haphazardly with the second boy. _

"_Ansem." The first boy whispered. He wrapped his arms tightly around the other boy, and Ansem did the same. "I didn't know if you'd remember."_

"_Of course I would remember." Ansem scoffed, pulling away slightly. "They can take our freedom, Andrew, but they can't keep us from each other. Twins gotta stick together." _

_Andrew smiled, and he swung an arm over his brother's shoulders. They walked over to the bench, and sat. Andrew closed his eyes for a moment, relishing the feel of his brother sitting next to him, after so long apart. _

"_What have you been up to?" Andrew asked briskly, to cut the silence. _

_Ansem laughed. "I convinced my teacher to give me an A on a test. It was pretty hilarious." He shook his head, a wry smile making it's way onto his face. "She was so confused." His smile faded. "But then she caught on. And called the cops. And Mr. Bernsten." _

"_Is he your…?" Andrew trailed off, knowing that the words angered his brother. _

"_Not anymore." Ansem laughed darkly. "They relocated me. Again." He looked up at his brother. "It took me two hours to walk here." Regret swum in his eyes. "I might not make it next time, brother." _

_Andrew felt a flash of panic. Ansem wasn't always a good person. He knew that. But he was all Andrew had. No one else cared about him like Ansem did. If he were to die, Ansem was the only one he had left who would cry. They couldn't take him away any more than they already had. _

_Andrew swallowed, pushing down his fear, so as not to upset Ansem. "Well, then, we'll just have to make the meeting place someplace closer to your new location." _

_Ansem smiled faintly, without hope, averting his gaze to the ground. Absently, he reached out and slid his fingers through Andrew's. Andrew looked to his brother in confusion. Hand holding had been something they had done as children, to comfort each other. Make their predicament seem less lonely. Back when they were even allowed to see each other, if only for a few minutes a week. As they had grown, the hand holding had been diminished to pats on the back, and brotherly embraces. Ansem wouldn't make himself feel this vulnerable. Not unless he _truly_ felt he had not other choice. _

"_What's wrong, Ansem? What's _really_ wrong?" Andrew clarified, understanding his brother's emotions better than anyone else. _

_Ansem looked up at his brother. His eyes were shining, tears welling up, unshed. "Where they relocated me...it's only temporary." He admitted, his voice cracking. _

_Andrew felt a cold dread settle in his stomach. He shook his head, mentally begging his brother to deny what he suspected. "Wh-where are they moving you?" He whispered, his voice weak. _

_Ansem looked desolately at his brother, his eyes void of hope. "You know where, Andrew." He murmured. _

"_No." Andrew denied. He stood up, tears falling onto his cheeks. "NO! They can't do that! They can't!" Ansem stood, pulling his brother into a firm embrace, as Andrews sobs echoed around the playground. _

"_It's okay, little brother," Ansem said, who had always felt that even though they were the same age, he was older. He was the one who's job it was to protect his brother. He was the one to look after him. "I'll be okay. They say the work camps aren't as bad as people make them out to be." He swallowed his grief. "You'll be okay, too." _

"_They can't…" Andrew whispered. "Please...you can't leave me…" _

_The words nearly broke Ansem's heart, but he shoved the feelings down. He hardened his resolve. "This is the last time you'll see me, Andrew." He guaranteed solemnly. His brothers cried became louder, though he tried to hide it. "But you'll be okay." He clutched his brother closer, desperately trying to memorize every feature. Quietly, to himself, he murmured, "You have to be okay." _

_A snap to their left stopped the brothers in their tracks. Ansem looked suspiciously toward the sound, but dismissed it reluctantly, blaming wildlife. He took the distraction as an opportunity to pull back from his distressed twin. Ansem looked into his brothers eyes, took a breath, opened his mouth to speak, and-_

_Ansem cried out as something small pierced his neck. He took a faltering step back, his hand reaching up to yank the offending object out. It tugged on his skin as he snatched the needle like projectile from his neck. However, judging from his swimming vision, and offset balance, it was too little, too late. _

_Ansem collapsed to the ground. Andrew shouted his name, barely catching him before Ansem would have cracked his head on the ground. He knelt by his brothers side, fear plain in his wide eyes. _

"_R-run." Ansem croaked, whatever sedative had been pumped into him quickly doing it's job. Andrew shook his head sadly, regret and acceptance shining in his eyes clearly. "I'm not leaving you." He said simply, stating a fact. _

_Andrew jerked back as a dart caught him, and he roughly pulled it out, managing to hold himself up on his hands and knees. Andrew looked up at his brother, their eyes saying more than could be stated in a thousand words. Andrew groaned, and let himself fall to the ground, still locking eyes with Ansem. _

_Ansem reached out weakly, extending his hand toward his brother. Andrew reached out as well, and just before Ansem's vision went black, he felt their fingertips touch, a touch that brought instant relief, and the knowledge that he was not alone providing a whisper of comfort. _

_Shouts broke out just above him, three figures in dark clothes rushed out from the shadows. Ansem struggled to reach his brother, protect him, straining uselessly against the drugs coursing through his body, even as the impending darkness began to swallow him. _

_With his last ounce of strength, Ansem gasped and shoved with all his might towards his younger brother. His little brother. His baby brother, who he swore to himself to protect. Ansem grabbed Andrew's hand, and he held onto it with his fading strength. _

I'll protect you, baby brother,_ Ansem swore determinedly, even as the rough hands of their captors disconnected the contact between the two. Ansem finally gave into the exhaustion, going completely limp, simultaneously easing the tension in his own body and making it more difficult for the strangers to lift him. _

I swear, Andrew, _Ansem promised as the light faded, and his thoughts became foggy. _You will not be alone.

* * *

><p>Sam's eyes snapped open, and his breath came in gasps. His forehead was plastered with sweat, and he swallowed, blinking rapidly to refocus his eyes. He could feel gravel pressing into his knees, and the sound of cars rushing past.<p>

"It's okay, Sammy." Dean's voice came from behind him. Sam was aware of his sure hand rubbing small circles on Sam's back, in a comforting rhythm. "It's over, it's finished." Dean soothed.

Sam closed his eyes to steady himself. He took a few deep breaths, the post-vision pain still bad, but fading. When he opened his eyes, he hissed at how bright the light was. Glaringly bright. Sam groaned slightly, and curled an arm around his stomach. Something was wrong with his stomach. He felt...nauseous. And lightheaded.

Sam recalled the vision, turning it over in his mind as he tried to distract himself from his discomfort. He started trembling as he remembered the horrible clarity of it. Normally his visions were like old TV or radio stations with bad frequencies, that cut in and out. This one, however, was like watching a movie in high definition.

And the feelings. Sam felt his stomach twist even more when he thought of the feelings that had bombarded him. He had felt what the boy, Ansem, had felt. In detail. In a horrible, claustrophobic clearness.

Sam remembered Ansem's fear. His protectiveness. His terror when Andrew didn't run. The people grabbing them. Separating them. Ansem's promise to Andrew, though they were both too far gone to speak by then.

Sam's stomach heaved without warning. He pitched forward, retching painfully. Dean jumped, and grabbed Sam's shoulders to brace him.

"Dad!" Dean shouted sternly, without panicking. "Get out here."

John, who had been talking to a concerned Mary, immediately zeroed in on the situation. Holding a hand up to Mary, he motioned for her to stay put. Quickly, John exited the car and made his way to the boys. Sam, still retching and coughing, was shaking and sweating as well.

John knelt by Sam, and placed a steadying hand on his shoulder. "You're okay, Sam, just breathe."

Sam coughed again, fighting for breath desperately. His eyes widened, and his breath became even more harried as he panicked.

John grabbed both of Sam's shoulders, and braced him. He leaned forward, and spoke quietly, but firmly, in Sam's ear.

"Breathe, Sam." He ordered. "Just calm down, son."

Actually keen on obeying for once, Sam struggled to even out his breathing, and slowly, the consistency of his gasps regained a better quality. Sam felt John relax behind him.

"There you go." John encouraged. "Don't think about anything else. Just breathe."

Finally, Sam sat back against John and Dean, nausea fading, and breathing evened out. John let out a relieved breath.

"You worried us, there, Sam." He said lightly, but Sam could hear the underlying edge of concern.

"Never…" Sam croaked, his voice rough. Sam cleared his throat, swallowed, and attempted again. "They've never been like that before." He looked up at the two men weakly.

"Like what, Sammy?" Dean asked.

"So...clear." Sam answered. "It was a thousand times more clear. And...I could feel things. What they were feeling."

"Who?" John asked in concern.

Sam felt a jolt when he remembered the two boys. "Psychics. Ansem and Andrew. They're twins." He looked up desperately at John and Dean. "They were kidnapped."

John narrowed his eyes, and looked back at Mary, her face laced with apprehension. John sighed. "Let's get back to the house, boys. I have something to talk to all of you about."

* * *

><p>The four Winchesters crowded around their table. After a brief, expectant silence, John stood.<p>

"You remember that could-be hunt I mentioned a few days ago?" He asked. Dean nodded, eyebrows furrowed.

"I was investigating the disappearance of Max Miller, age 14." He looked around at his small family. "He's a psychic."

Sam stared down at the table, expecting stares from the family, but their eyes remained on John. Sam felt the knot in his chest loosen, and gratitude take it's place.

"It's not uncommon for psychics to run away from their Care homes, but usually they are either caught or return on their own after a day or two." He paused. "It's been almost three days. The possibility of a runaway is dwindling. Fast." John sat back down, clasping his hands in front of him. "However, I might still dismiss it as that, if it weren't for the other disappearances." He looked regretfully at Sam. "In the states and towns around Lawrence, a total of four psychics have gone missing, including the two boys Sam saw earlier.

"All are around 14 years old, all are psychics." John sighed. "I feel like there's a connection, but…" He trailed off. "The only sure kidnapping was of a girl named Ava Wilson, taken outside her school. It's suspected that Max Miller was kidnapped, but not positive."

Looking at the faces of his family, John tried to placate them. "I'm not trying to scare you, I just want everyone on the lookout." His gaze settled on Sam. "Sam is the exact age of the kids that have been taken. This guy has been successful with taking four children, if that is the case. Let's not make it so easy with Sam."

Sam's face burned, but he felt oddly happy all the same. John cared. He really cared. Sam was disturbed to hear about the children, and John's suspicions about the subject. The topic wasn't a surprise to him, having witnessed all the kidnappings. However, the whole family's concern for him warmed him to the core.

"They were all kidnapped." He commented quietly.

John nodded. "The evidence only points to two kidnappings, however." At Sam's hurt look, he held up his hands defensively. "I don't doubt you, but the authorities would."

"Don't worry, Dad." Dean growled. Sam looked back at his brother, who had been silent throughout most of the conversation. "Whoever wants Sam has to go through me."

He and Sam made eye contact. Sam shivered at the look in his eye. It reminded him of the fierce determination of Ansem, watching his brother collapse next to him.

"They're not going to get you, Sammy." Dean promised. "I got your back."

Sam smiled. Dean might have his back, but he knew that if worst came to worst, he would have Dean's back.

* * *

><p>Ava screamed as the electricity arched through her body again. It ceased, and she sagged against the metal table, panting loudly. Her mouth was dry, but if she hadn't had no moisture in her body, she would have been crying.<p>

Or maybe not. This had been going on for so long, Ava was starting to understand Max's fear when she had just arrived. Sadly, she was gradually losing the ability to cry. Crying didn't help anything.

The man in the coat walked over to her. Ava had learned from phone call that he made that his name was "Dr. Neville". Dr. Neville gently stroked her face, sympathy playing across his features. Ava weakly jerked her head away.

"D-don't touch m-me, you f-f-freak." She rasped, her voice stuttering involuntarily.

Dr. Neville's fingers stilled. His brow furrowed in concern. "Do you need water, Ava?" He asked, before walking over to the table and picking up a cup. He brought it over to Ava. He gently grasped the back of her head, propping it up. With his other hand, he brought the cup to her lips. Ava drank greedily, anger simmering in her stomach. When there was almost none left, Ava sucked the water into her mouth, but didn't drink it, holding the mouthful inside.

"Better?" Dr. Neville asked, acting as though he had solved all of her problems. He wore an expression of superiority, looking at her like she was some idiotic child.

Rage boiled in Ava's veins, and in response, she spit the water out at Dr. Neville. He stumbled back, shock crossing his face. Ava watched as his face grew red with anger, and his features twisted, making him look less human.

Dr. Nevill stormed over, and slammed her shoulders down, bringing his face close to hers. Ava cried out as her head banged against the unforgiving metal.

"You should show me some respect!" Dr. Neville shouted. "I am trying to help you! All of you! You just can't see it! Stupid, stupid, girl!" He shook her again, and Ava couldn't help but whimper.

That small sound seemed to break Dr. Neville from his rage. He took a step back, looking regretful.

"Ava.." He faltered, reaching out a hand to comfort her. She drew away, straining against the metal restraints confining her.

Dr. Neville stopped. "I'm sorry." He whispered. "I _am_ trying to help."

The door to the chamber opened with a bang, and three people walked in. Between them, two boys hung, unconscious. Ava's eyes widened with horror. Dr. Neville forgot her for a moment. He walked over to the two, inspecting them closely.

"Are these the Gallager boys? Andrew and Ansem?" He asked sharply, while checking their pupils.

One of the people nodded in assent. Dr. Neville walked to the desk, and lifted a list off of the desk. He consulted it, and looked back at the boys.

"Gag them." He ordered. Ava buried her gasp, not wanting to draw attention to herself.

The group complied, roughly gagging the pair.

"Put them in A3 and A4." Dr. Neville said, meaning the cage numbers. "I'll deal with them when I'm done."

Dr. Neville looked back to Ava. Chills ran down her spine.

"I have work to do."

* * *

><p><strong>*shudder* I'm sorry, I'm writing in Dr. Neville, and he creeps even ME out. <strong>

**Hope you enjoyed. Review and let me know what you think! : )**

**Remember, I adore constructive criticism. Help me improve my writing skills. **

**Cheers!**


	11. Breaking Point

**Here's Chapter 11! Hope you enjoy!**

**Chapter 11 - Breaking Point**

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><p>Sam hung his head low as he shouldered his way through the crowd, letting his hair hang before his eyes. Although he tried to keep the attention away from himself, he still heard the murmurs from the kids around him.<p>

"He _totally _wigged out yesterday." A girl whispered to her friend. Sam frowned. Had it really just been yesterday? It felt like eons ago; so much had happened.

"Some kids are saying he did it as a ploy to escape." A boy muttered to another, while shooting a glare in Sam's direction. Sam wanted to laugh, even if that had been the case, it was almost an insult to his intelligence to assume otherwise than if he had come up with an escape plan, it would have succeeded. Sam's slight smile faded. Of course, his plans hadn't worked in the past.

"I bet he was hoping some poor sap would get close enough for him to attack." An older boy told a younger child, whose eyes widened when Sam looked at him, and shrunk away.

Sam sighed, and pressed on. The rumors were inevitable. There was no way what happened would go unnoticed. He had known that, had prepared himself for that fact. So why did it still bring such disappointment?

"Oh my gosh! Sam!" Someone came rushing through the crowd, and collided with him, desperately wrapping their arms around him. Sam reeled back in shock for a moment, and then tenderly wrapped his own arms around the person.

Maia pulled back, sniffing slightly. She held a tough expression, scowling slightly at the floor. Sam smiled halfway, feeling a little proud of himself, when Maia's hand shot out and whacked him in the shoulder. Sam stumbled back, more from shock than impact, and looked at her in disbelief.

"What the heck, Maia?" He griped, rubbing his sore shoulder. "What was _that_ for?"

Maia whipped her head up, furious, and Sam wilted under her onslaught. "What was _that_ for?" She hissed, fire in her eyes. "_That_ is for scaring me half to death, Sam! You collapsed on the ground, shaking and moaning, and I had no idea what to do!" Her voice rose with every word, anger propelling her on. "I had to go find Dean, I had to tell a teacher, I had to try to stop them from taking you away!" Her voice cracked on the last word, and Sam reached out sympathetically, but Maia jerked away, crossing her arms.

"You didn't call, you didn't text. You didn't even _think_ of letting me know if you _survived, _did you?" She glared in the other direction, to overcome with emotion to say any more.

Sam stood shell-shocked. His mouth opened, but nothing came out. Maia looked over, expecting an explanation, and glowered at him when nothing came.

"I should have known it." Maia mumbled as she began to storm past. "All guys turn out to be jerks."

Sam reached out and caught her arm, stopping her hurried exit. "Wait, Maia-"

She yanked her arm away from him. "Don't touch me!" She shouted. "I don't need your pity. I took pity on _you!_ You remember that?" Maia stopped, gazing at Sam hurtfully. "I shouldn't have bothered." She whispered to herself, but Sam caught the words. He blinked, sadness crossing his face. Maia's eyes filled with tears, and she stormed off, wiping them angrily.

Sam walked dazedly to his locker, and pulled some books randomly from the fray. He followed the mob of kids, finally ending up in his own classroom, each step accenting a thought.

_I screwed up. I screwed up so badly. Maia's right; god, I'm an awful person. _

Sam was awash in a sea of self-loathing when he arrived at his destination. Absently, he took his seat, and stared out the window in the door, feeling slightly relieved that his first hour was one of the two that he and Maia had separately, and hating that he felt relieved, and feeling relieved that he still cared about Maia enough to hate that he was relieved.

Sam was so lost in his thoughts that he didn't notice the teacher striving to get his attention. The class tittered, giggles ricocheting around the room.

"Mr. _Winchester._" The teacher tried one more time, and Sam finally jerked to attention, inciting more laughter. The teacher, Mrs. Albotross, a woman of little humor, pursed her lips, and gestured innocently back at the board.

"Well, Mr. Winchester, as you seem so gifted in this part of your education that you feel it appropriate to allow a lax in attention, would you be so kind as to explain General Washington's viewpoint on the direction of the revolution?" Her language often grew more complex when she was trying to humiliate a student. More giggles ran around the room at Sam's discomfort.

Sam stared futilely at the board for a moment. He tried to grasp what it meant, but none of the information seemed relevant to her question. He looked up, silently begging her for a break, just this once. Mrs. Albotross merely raised her eyebrows. Inwardly, Sam sagged. This teacher had had him pegged from the moment he entered her classroom. It was the tag. One look at it, and she had been glaring daggers at him from across the room.

Sam sighed. "He was...happy about it?" Was his lame attempt. The class burst out laughing, but Mrs. Albotross exhaled sharply, and strode back to her desk.

"If you had been paying attention, Mr. Winchester, you would know that we aren't even covering the Revolutionary War at this point, we are looking at the civil rights movement." She scolded. Sam felt his face burn with shame, but he couldn't quite bring himself to care more than slight embarrassment at the public berating.

Mrs. Albotross glared down at him. "Do you even have any of your things, Mr. Winchester?" She asked in a condescending tone, clearing knowing the answer herself, just wanting him to say it.

"No." Sam admitted with quiet dread.

"No?" Mrs. Albotross gasped in mock surprise. "Well, who would've guessed? What, Mr. Winchester, possesses you to assume that you need not be prepared for my class?" She asked.

Something inside Sam snapped, the stress of the past few days breaching his breaking point. He stood up, indignation fueling his actions. "What possesses you to assume I'm going to have a good answer for that question?" He shot back. "What possesses you to assume that I actually care about anything you're teaching in this class?"

Mrs. Albotross gasped, looking horrified, but Sam could see satisfaction in her eyes. He was only proving her silently made point that psychics were unpredictable and dangerous.

Sam glared angrily at her. "Stop treating me like I'm an idiot just because I'm a psychic." A few kids inhaled sharply at his words. "Yeah, I said it." Sam shot at them. "It doesn't go away when you ignore it, you know. Just because you pretend you don't know what happens to us doesn't mean it stops."

"Mr. Winchester, I assure you that this is not the place for that kind of talk-" Mrs. Albotross began. She was going through the motions weakly. She wanted him to interrupt her, to make it look like he was the enemy. Sam recognized all of this, but his fury was too hot to be ignored.

"Then where?" Sam cried. "A courtroom? They would never even consider a case like that. Anything involving psychics is written off as unimportant, especially if the psychic is blaming someone else for a problem!" His chest heaved, and he clenched his fists angrily.

"You all assume that I'm some kind of monster. Well guess what? I didn't chose this. None of us did. So stop acting like we committed some crime just for existing."

He turned back to the teacher. "And quit with the rant about the civil war. It's not like it changed anything. It was _pointless_." He spat. Mrs. Albotross gasped, real indignation shooting through her. Sam felt a sense of grim satisfaction at actually getting a rise out of her.

"It gave freedom to thousands of innocent people!" She declared. "You call that pointless?"

"Yeah." Sam said coldly. "Look around. There are still slaves nowadays. Still families torn apart. Still kids that cry at night because they miss their parents, or a younger brother that they will _never _see again." He paused, regaining his composure. "They're just hidden under the pretense of danger."

"There is a certain truth to that statement." Mrs. Albotross protested, no trickery in her gaze at his point. She truly believed in what she was saying, and to some degree, that hurt Sam the most. "You can't deny that psychics have been the cause of multiple casualties."

"So have regular people!" Sam shouted. "But you don't see regular kids ripped from their families just for being a certain race! Regular kids aren't punished for their parents mistakes!" He struggled for words for a moment, his anger choking off common sense.

"You treat us like animals! Like we don't know any better than to kill and destroy! But that's a lie!" Sam slammed a fist down on his desk, everyone in the room flinched. "I am human! We all are. We don't deserve this! Any of it!" He insisted.

"That's part of the reason we teach our younger generations about psychics." Mrs. Albotross offered in a soothing voice, the snake returning to her gaze. "We try to teach about our past mistakes so as not to repeat them." She said in a lower tone.

He gave a short, cold laugh. "Great job with that. Obviously, something's gone wrong. Somehow, psychic rights have been written off as unnecessary. Right? Unless you want to start a civil rights movement right now...?" He looked around the class. The laughing was long gone; the students stared down at their desks. "I didn't think so."

Mrs. Albotross smiled coyly. "Why in the world would any of us want to?" She asked. "You have only proved what we all already knew. Psychics are unstable, and dangerous. I'd say they're about as dangerous as having a loaded gun in the school."

Sam barked a laugh. "Guns don't kill people." He quoted, recalling an old saying from a pro-gun commercial he saw a while back. "People kill people." He looked around the room, staring at each kid in turn. "_You're_ the ones pushing psychics to more and more drastic measures. You're making them desperate. The only way they can get any sort of freedom is to fight back. So they do."

Mrs. Albotross looked scandalized. She opened her mouth to say something, but Sam cut her off.

"Please, don't." He implored her. "I get it. Detention, principal's office, staying after, I get it. No special treatment here, right?" Sam looked back up at the board. "Not back then. Not now." He looked his teacher right in the eye. "Not for me."

With that, Sam grabbed his books off of his desk. He stormed out of the room, and slammed the door shut angrily behind him. He tore down the hallway, tears of injustice stinging his eyes.

When Sam reached his locker, he violently twisted the combination lock, and tried the lever. It didn't work, and, frustrated, he tried it a second time. In a manic burst of fury, he slammed his fist against his locker, and leaned his head against the cool metal. Sam felt his shoulders begin to shake as tears slid down his face.

Sam slid down the locker, and held his head in his hands. _I'm so done. _He thought desperately. _I don't want this anymore. _

"Sam?" Sam glanced up and saw a blurry Maia running down the hall towards him. Sam straightened, wiping the tears from his face. He looked down the other hall, away from Maia, shame written on every feature.

"Sam." Maia paused by him, and took a seat, sitting against the lockers with her knees up to her chest. "You know, you didn't deserve what I said to you-" She started.

"No, I did." Sam quietly disagreed.

"No, you didn't." Maia insisted, slightly distraught. "Sam, I was worried, and angry at the system, the world, and…" She looked away, reddening. "You were the only one I could take it out on."

"I deserved it." Sam sighed. "I was a horrible friend, and a sucky person." He looked over at Maia, and sighed. "I should have thought of you."

"I wish you would have." Maia whispered, tucking her chin into her knees. A strange silence followed.

"It's just…" Sam began, struggling for the right words. Sam averted his eyes, talking to the opposite wall. "I've never...had a friend like you before. Even before I was...before the psychic stuff, I never really had friends that would care _that_ much." He chuckled cynically. "They would just want the juicy gossip."

Maia reached over tenderly, and gently grasped Sam's hand. With a shocked look at her, Sam wrapped his own fingers around hers.

"I'm sorry, Maia." Sam whispered, looking straight into her eyes. "I should have...I just…"

"What happened?" She asked kindly.

Sam sighed, groaning as he relived the experience, and told her about the encounter with Mrs. Albotross.

"I was so stupid." He griped. "Why didn't I just keep my mouth shut? I'm such a stupid, moronic..."

"You aren't stupid." Maia murmured. "You're brave." She looked up into his eyes uncertainly.

Maia leaned close. Sam looked intently into her eyes, strange emotions dancing in his stomach. She looked so beautiful, her soft dark blond hair falling in a curtain around her. For the first time, Sam took in her beautiful dark blue eyes, and the light brown streaks running throughout her hair. Running purely on instinct, Sam reached up lightly, grazing her cheek with his fingers.

"Sam?" Another voice echoed down the hallway. The two lurched apart, growing red. Dean vaulted around the corner, pausing when he spotted the two sitting so close. Dean grinned slyly, sauntering closer. When he spotted Sam's red eyes and tear streaked face, the smile vanished, and he knelt next to his brother.

"You okay?" He murmured, looking intently at his brother's face. Sam nodded, trying to look stoic, but Dean could see the pain in his eyes. He wrapped an arm around his brother's shoulders.

"You want to go home?" Dean asked quietly. Maia sat to the side, giving the two their space, but including herself in the discussion.

Sam shrugged shakily. "Only seven more periods left, right?" He sagged when he thought of how the gossip of his outburst would spread around the school. As if he needed more attention.

"I'd take him home." Maia suggested. "If it was as bad as he said it was, it'll be all over the school in ten minutes, class or not."

Sam groaned, dropping his head into his hands.

Dean stood up, wrinkling his brow as he thought. Suddenly, looking down at Sam, an idea hit him.

"Hey, you can act, right?" Dean asked Sam urgently. Sam looked up.

"What?" He asked in confusion.

"Just act like you've got a headache." Dean said. Looking down, he cocked his head. "Actually, act like you've got a hangover."

"Hangover?!" Sam protested. Maia coughed to hide a laugh.

"Yeah, you know, unstable, in pain, squinting." Dean frowned in confusion. "You mean to tell me you've never had a hangover before?"

Sam stared in disbelief. "Dude, I'm _fourteen_." He paused. "And you, just FYI, are underage as well."

Dean shrugged. "Age is just a number." He dismissed, waving a hand. He sighed. "Fine, just pretend to have had one of your episodes, okay?"

Sam winced. "Episodes?" He judged.

Dean threw up his hands. "Episodes, vision, freaky ESP otherworldly motion picture movie of death, take your pick." He said exasperatedly.

Sam blanched. "Fine, episode it is."

Dean nodded. He looked to Maia. "You want in?"

She smiled. "Sure. I'll help with your escape attempt. Just remember to come back for your fellow prisoners here."

Dean fixed a confused gaze on her. Sam waved a hand. "It's an inside prison joke."

"Whatever." Dean relented. He held a hand down to his younger brother. "Let's get you outta here, Sammy."

* * *

><p>"Please," The woman begged. "It's my word against that vile little creature's." She spat. Her voice turned desperate again. "Please, tell me it's something you can work with."<p>

The man sitting behind the desk stroked his chin. "Perhaps." He surmised. "I don't think that it will truly get him relocated, however."

The woman turned away angrily. "I can't stand the sight of him." She griped. "He's only been there two days, and I can't…" Her eyes filled with tears. "Psychics are the reason my son died."

"Marcy." The man leaned forward, his expression softening. "David's car accident was a tragic accident."

"Caused by a psychic on the run from the police!" She shouted. "And now another one of _them_ is here."

Taking a deep breath to steady herself, the woman looked back at the man. "Please, Mr. Pearson. You said you needed someone to file a complaint against the boy. You said just one more could get him relocated." Her hands shook. "I don't want to see him anymore."

Mr. Pearson stood. "I'll see what I can do, Mrs. Albotross." He promised. "Know that your complaint will not go unrecognised."

"Thank you." She nodded her head, and spun on her heel, dabbing her eyes with a tissue.

Mr. Pearson sat back down, rubbing his forehead. Dr. Neville stormed in as the door swung shut from Mrs. Albotross's exit.

"What are you planning, Pearson?" Dr. Neville stood over his desk, breathing heavily, his hair frazzled. "I know that this plan is important, but Sam's safety…"

"Is in consideration." Mr. Pearson assured him. He stood, leaning forward lightly. "Allowing Sam to stay with the Winchester's is not an option. They care for him too much. We need to separate them."

"So you're going to relocate him? Again?" Dr. Neville crossed the room to the window, clenching his hands together, entwining his fingers, in a desperate attempt to still his shaking fingers. "You know where he'll end up." He looked over at Mr. Pearson. "A Camp."

"Only for a week or so." Mr. Pearson dismissed. "It will prove to be much less difficult to make a nameless, random, orphan disappear from the system than to kidnap a child from his family."

Dr. Neville turned from Mr. Pearson. He fixed his gaze on the horizon, watching the early morning clouds drift across the sky. "Do you think Emilia would approve of what we are doing?" He began softly. He looked back to Mr. Pearson, tears glinting in his eyes. "We are causing those poor children pain. They are suffering."

"We are doing this to help Emilia, wherever she is." Mr. Pearson stood straighter. "Just think of that, Gene. Emilia will be home with you soon. _If_ you follow the plan."

Dr. Neville nodded, his brow furrowed. "I'll go along with this." He said. "For now. But only for Emilia."

"Of course." Mr. Pearson agreed. His fist clenched by his side, the only expression of anger shown on the outside. "Only for Emilia."

* * *

><p><strong>Review, and let me know what you think. I know it's been a while, but I'm going to have to stop apologizing for not updating as soon as I planned to. *sigh* Looks like my life's not going to calm down anytime soon. : **

**Cheers!**


	12. Sacrifice

**Sorry it's been so long. You know my excuse….**

**Chapter 12 - Sacrifice**

* * *

><p>Ansem glared angrily through the bars of his cage. His mouth was covered with a large gag, and his hands were bound roughly behind him. Though he had struggled for the first few hours, his energy had quickly waned, leaving him breathless and dizzy with the lack of oxygen being supplied from his mouth.<p>

He looked anxiously over at Andrew's empty cage. He'd been gone for at least an hour and a half. Maybe more. Fear festered in Ansem's chest, nestling right beside his constant companions of anger and resentment. If these monsters did anything to Andrew…

"Comfortable in there?" The cruel man, Mr. Pearson, crouched down outside of his cage, a twisted smile deforming his face. Ansem let out an animalish growl, jerking forward as if to attack. Mr. Pearson didn't even flinch.

Mr. Pearson glanced down at the watch on his wrist. "You know, Dr. Neville should be just about done with your brother by now." He grinned maliciously. "It's almost your turn."

A long scream echoed down the hallways, reaching the containment room. Ansem's eyes widened. Andrew screamed again, in a voice twisted by agony.

_What have you done with him?!_ Ansem growled again, reaching forward with his foot to kick the front of the cage. The bars rattled angrily. Another wail rang out, and Ansem snarled angrily, feeling powerless. He got to his knees, and slammed himself against the front of the cage, hoping desperately to free himself and save his brother.

Mr. Pearson merely laughed. "Save that energy for later, Ansem. You'll need it." With another barking laugh, he stood up, crossing the room.

* * *

><p>"Why can't you stay, too?" Sam asked desperately, clinging to Dean's worn leather jacket.<p>

"Cause someone has to do damage control." Dean explained. "We can't just up and disappear."

"Please, Dean." Sam pleaded. He swallowed, trying to clamp down his raw emotions, threatening to boil over. "I don't want to be alone."

"You won't be alone, Sammy." Dean said gently. "Mom'll be here."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Dean…" He trailed off, knowing that nothing he would say could make Dean stay. An arbitrary sense of abandonment washed over him. He ducked his head quickly, unwilling to let Dean see.

Dean wrapped an arm around Sam's shoulders. "I'll be back, Sam." He murmured. "I swear to you, I'll come back."

Sam nodded, nonsensical fear harboring in his chest.

"Dean!" Mary called from the living room. "You're going to miss the bus!"

Sam looked up at Dean in shock. "You're not taking the Impala?" In the short time that he had been there, he had already seen how much Dean loved and was proud of that car.

Dean laughed shortly. "Technically, she's not mine." He reasoned. "She's Dad's. He just lets me drive her every once in a while. Today, he had to take her out for some business stuff."

"The Impala's a girl?" Sam questioned, smiling.

"Yep." Dean confirmed. "And don't you forget it." He ruffled Sam's hair, and pulled away, looking back at Sam as he stood in the doorway.

"See you after school, Sammy." Dean said solemnly, as if to make his previous promise more obvious, more reliable. As a last thought, he shouted back to his mother. "Pick me up after school!" He winked once more at Sam, before closing the door.

Sam still felt as if the thud of the door shutting were not simply that; rather, it sounded final, and ominous.

Mary walked into the room, drying her hands on a towel. She lightly draped an arm over his shoulder. "Why don't you help me dry?"

Sam smiled. "Already trying to get me to do work?" He said quietly, still watching the door.

"Well, you did get kicked out of school." Mary reasoned. "I figure this is part of the punishment."

Sam's smile vanished. He hadn't technically been expelled, but the headmaster had been pretty clear about the fact that Sam would probably be better suited at a different school.

Mary caught herself. "Sam, I don't mean it's your fault." She said. "Maybe you weren't ready for school."

Sam shrugged sullenly. Mary sighed. "Come on." She said, leading him into the kitchen.

* * *

><p>Sam stared down at the plate in his hands. He wiped it dully, his mind somewhere else. He kept picturing Mrs. Albotross's face when he had stood up to her. Disgust, anger, resentment. How could someone that didn't know him feel so strongly negative about him?<p>

"Sam." Mary murmured, looking over at him. "You've been drying that same plate for fifteen minutes. Something on your mind?"

Sam jolted to attention. He set the plate on the counter, grabbing a cup out of the bin with wet dishes. "No." He said quietly.

"Sam." Mary stopped, draping the washcloth over the faucet. "What's going on with you?"

Sam sighed, closing his eyes for a moment. "It's my teacher." He admitted. "She hated me."

Mary nodded, allowing the fact. "She does."

"Why?" Sam asked, almost to himself.

Mary shrugged, picking the washcloth up again. "That's a question as old as time, Sam. As long as there is someone to discriminate against, there will be those who discriminate."

"But I've never done anything to her!" Sam protested. "I don't get how she can just…" He trailed off, unable to truly express himself.

"I know." Mary whispered. "I hate it, too."

Sam looked over at Mary in confusion. "Why do you care so much?" Sam asked. "Why did you take me in? Why are you taking care of me?"

Mary smiled. "I thought that was obvious, Sam. I like you."

"That's what I don't understand." Sam frowned. "Everyone else takes one look at me, and…" He looked over at Mary. "But you, and John, and Dean. You guys act like I'm...normal." His expression hardened. "Like I'm not a freak."

"Oh, Sam." Mary sighed sadly. She set the cloth down again, and wrapped her arms around Sam. He felt her fingers, cold from the water, pressing against his neck. "You are never a freak to us." She breathed. "You are perfect."

* * *

><p>Ansem struggled against the strong hands that pulled him out of the cage. He shouted in desperation as he looked at Andrew slumped on the floor of his cage, breath hitching. Ansem could see tear tracks running down his face, and he hated the dead look in Andrew's eyes.<p>

Ansem shouted angrily, and lurched toward his brother. The guard roughly yanked him toward the door, away from his twin. Ansem ached to hold his brother, to comfort him, but he was helpless as the man dragged him down the hall, away from Andrew.

He was forced into a small room, surrounding a small metal table with stiff restraints. Ansem fought as he was shackled to the surface. He tested the restraints, but none of them gave.

The guard left, and Ansem struggled futilely in his absence. He knew that escape was impossible, but to admit defeat was to admit helplessness, and welcome a desperate fear into his already emotionally clogged mind.

The door opened, and a man Ansem recognized as Dr. Neville walked in. He made his way silently over to the desk by the wall. He pulled out some kind of device from a drawer, switching it on.

Ansem leaned his head back against the cool metal, trying to tamp down the lighting panic in his chest. His breath shook as Dr. Neville came closer. He set the strange device on the table next to his leg.

"Ansem, you need to relax." Dr. Neville said. "This will be much easier if you calm down."

Ansem glared daggers at the man, straining with his mind to reach him. He felt his gift humming with life, finally touching the edges of the doctors mind.

Dr. Neville lurched back, a hand reaching up to his forehead. He narrowed his eyes at Ansem, a grim smile touching his lips. "Interesting." He surmised. "Your gifts are obviously much more advanced than those of your brother."

Ansem bristled at the mention of Andrew. He turned his head to the side, inwardly trying to suppress the urge to thrash, every bone in his body aching to destroy this man.

"However, I can't have your gift botching the results of my experiment." Dr. Neville reasoned. He stepped forward, holding up a syringe. He flicked the glass container, expelling the air bubbles with a small squirt. Ansem stared in dread. As Dr. Neville lowered the needle toward him, he thrashed to the side, his shouts muffled by the gag.

Dr. Neville grabbed Ansem's forehead, forcing it flat on the table. He turned Ansem's head to the side and slid the needle into his neck. Ansem stopped struggling as he felt the drug making it's way through his system. As he looked up at Dr. Neville, everything seemed very bright, almost comically so.

Ansem's head lolled to the side, and he frowned in concentration, straining to remember exactly why he had been upset. Dr. Neville smiled kindly, and untied the gag from around Ansem's head. Gently, he removed it, pouring a small amount of water into his mouth.

"See?" Dr. Neville said, above him. "Relaxed."

Ansem didn't bother responding; he couldn't seem to find the will power.

Dr. Neville lifted the small device, checked a few dials, and looked down at Ansem in sympathy. "Just remember." He warned. "This will be over soon."

Ansem's sluggish brain registered the words, but the meanings dissipated quickly, leaving him with only a vague notion of what the doctor was saying. He was pondering the idea of sleeping, merely for the blissful escape from this off-balance, shaky version of reality, when a blinding, white hot pain shot through his body, stealing his breath.

Ansem's heart pounded, and he gasped, adrenaline shooting through his body, while his brain struggled to understand the harsh conditions it found itself in. His eyes filled with tears, and he wailed as another strike of the agony hit him. His back arched away from the table, and his scream cut through the silence in the room.

Back in the room with the cages, Andrew's eyes brimmed over with tears as he heard his brother screaming. He buried his head in his arms, rocking back and forth slightly, moaning quietly.

"Please," He whispered. "Please, somebody save us."

* * *

><p><em>Scott shivered in the brisk air, his arms chilly and exposed, cuffed to the porch railing above his head. He tested the handcuffs hopelessly. Of course they wouldn't give; they never had. <em>

_He couldn't exactly recall what had brought him to this position again. It didn't really need to be anything specific. His Carer, Aida Lisson, was prone to punishment without cause. She blamed his attitude, or talking back, or even looking at her "snarkily". She was very creative. _

_Scott shifted, growing numb from being out there for so long. He wondered if Aida had forgotten about him. It wouldn't be the first time. After all, it's hard to remember someone you spend so much time trying to forget. _

_He heard the rumble of a car pulling into the driveway. He sighed in relief. It was probably Cody, Aida's son. He was a police man; it was from him that Aida stole the handcuffs. He didn't like it when she used his stuff to punish Scott. At least if Cody asked about the location of the handcuffs, Aida might recall that her charge was slowly freezing to death outside. _

_Scott heard a strange bang inside, as if the door slammed hard against the front hall wall. He frowned. If that was Cody, he was about to get a stern scolding. Aida hated it when doors were slammed. She felt it "disturbed the aura of her inner soul". Whatever that meant. _

_Strange voice echoed out of the house, shouting. Scott caught the sound of Aida's voice, high and shrill. She was protesting, but she sounded fearful. Scott didn't truly like his Carer; she was cruel and had never shown him any sympathy or love. However, he didn't like the sound of the normally strong and intimidating woman pleading with intruders. He feared anyone that could make Aida Lisson beg. _

"_Where is he?" One of the men in the house shouted. Aida screamed once, and Scott's eyes widened. Were they talking about _him_? _

"_I-I don't know!" Aida cried. Scott blinked in shock. Aida was protecting him. She might beat him with a spoon, or force him to go without a meal, or leave him out in the cold for hours, but when there was a squad of intruders keen on his capture, she put herself in harm's way to keep him out of the line of fire. _

"_Where is Scott?!" The man shouted again. Scott heard crashes from the house, as though the men were searching through the cabinets. _

"_Scott?" Aida's voice became quieter, less alarmed, though it still shook. Scott could barely make it out. "Scott is out back." She laughed. "Tethered to the porch." Another shaky laugh. "I thought you meant my son." _

_The door to the back porch flew out, and Scott turned his head to the side to keep the dust from his eyes. He saw the men come closer, and he subtly turned his hand so that his palms were facing them. One man came closer, and reached up as though to free his hands. Once he got in range, Scott gripped the man's arm with his hand, and pulsed. He felt a rush as the electricity cycled through his body, and transferred into the man. _

_The man convulsed, falling to the ground. He shook, limbs spasming randomly, but his colleagues merely stepped over him. One man lunged forward, and slid a needle into Scott's neck before he could reach him. _

_Scott thrashed away from the hand, but it was too late. He could feel the cold drugs running through his body, and he fought to keep his eyes open. _

_The last thing he saw was the group of men reaching toward him, uncuffing his hands, and placing a hood over his head. Then everything went dark. _

Sam gasped, his eyes shooting open. His breath shuddered, and the lights seemed too bright. Wincing, he closed them again.

"Sam?" Mary's voice came through to him. "Do I need to call an ambulance?"

He groaned, reliving his previous experience with the hospital. "No." He managed to choke out. "Can' help."

Sam felt her cold hands on his forehead. "Sweetie, you're burning up."

"No...jus'...tired…" He slurred. He opened his eyes cautiously, and a blurry Mary came into view. Her expression was a mix of concern, relief, and genuine sadness. Gingerly, Sam eased himself up, and wiped the sweaty hair out of his eyes. Mary kept a steady hand on his back. As the stabs of pain waned, he was able to breathe easier.

"It was another psychic." He whispered, and heard Mary inhale sharply. He looked up at her tearfully. "When is this going to end?" He whimpered. Mary pulled him to her chest, gently stroking his hair.

"It's okay, Sam." She murmured. "I promise everything will fine."

* * *

><p>Ansem screamed as yet another agony-inducing shock shot through his system. He sagged against the table, feeling weak and dizzy.<p>

"There we go." Dr. Neville said cheerfully. "All done, Ansem." He walked over to the boy, and began pulling off the small stickers and wires that he had added throughout the experiment. "If I may, you did much better than your brother." He congratulated.

Ansem felt a jolt of fear just as painful as the shock. Andrew had gone through this. He had felt this horrible anguish, and screamed just as Ansem had.

_No._ Ansem protested weakly. _I can't let that happen. _

"Leave Andrew alone!" He shouted, not using his power. He considered this, but knew that Mr. Pearson would catch on in a second if he tried.

Dr. Neville smiled in amusement, and looked affectionately at Ansem. "Don't worry, Ansem." He laughed good-naturedly. "Andrew isn't getting any more attention than you. You don't have anything to worry about."

Ansem snarled in disgust. "Leave him out of this." He pleaded. "We have the same powers. You can test on me anything that you need to test on him."

Dr. Neville turned toward him, considering. "That's true." He allowed. "However, I would require a more solid form of reimbursement."

"Name it." Ansem said in a steely voice.

"Well, we don't have many psychics working on our side." Dr. Neville informed him. "We will, that much is certain, but at the moment, we are slightly...shorthanded...in that department. We could really use a person of your talent."

Ansem's mouth tasted sour. "You want me to work on your side? _Help_ you?"

"No, Ansem." Dr. Neville said, leaning close. "I want you to help your brother. After all, helping me, will make this whole experience better for Andrew in the end."

Ansem looked to the door, thinking carefully. "Andrew can't be harmed." He cautioned. "The moment he is…"

"Our deal is off." Dr. Neville agreed. "Do we have an agreement?"

Ansem hesitated, before caving. "Fine." He spat, glaring at the doctor. "Fine, I'll help you."

Dr. Neville smiled. "I was hoping you would."

* * *

><p><strong>Let me know what you think. I'd love to hear your take on everything that's happening. <strong>

**Also, tell me if there's some giant plot hole somewhere. If someone tells me about it early on, I can go back and fix it before I get in too deep with the story. If I don't hear about it in time, the hypothetical plot hole would have to stay. **

**Thanks! I appreciate everyone's support. **

**Cheers!**


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